


and built a little house that we could live in

by coloredink



Series: Yet Another Hannigram S1 AU [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Food Porn, Gen, Hannibal is Hannibal, Season/Series 01, Someone Help Will Graham, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's your house," he muttered.  "It only seems right you should get to use it, once in a while.  And it's been years since you took a vacation, and you were attacked by a psychopath lately, so you could probably use a break.  But it's," he shifted in his chair, "probably it's not really your idea of a vacation, having to spend it with me and a, a pack of strays."</p><p>"On the contrary," Hannibal said, anticipation unfurling warm and bubbly in his chest, "that sounds like a wonderful time."</p><p>(<a href="http://cypress136.blogspot.com/">Vietnamese</a> translation available.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tiltedsyllogism and starlingshrike for scintillating betas!
> 
> Art by the wonderful, wonderful crazyphases!

"Perhaps you should consider a vacation," Hannibal suggested.

It was a suggestion any decent therapist would have made. Nightmares, sleepwalking, hallucinations: it was post-traumatic stress if nothing else, but Hannibal had smelled sweet, feverish illness on the back of Will's neck. He was very curious to see what would develop of that, but he also wanted to see how Will would react to the idea of a vacation.

Will snorted. "A few days lying on a beach somewhere, a drink with a little umbrella in it?" He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "Nah."

Hannibal rearranged his face into into a polite and distant smile that he knew would infuriate Will. Sure enough, Will's fingers curled atop his armrests. "What I am suggesting is time away from work, participating in some recreation that you find pleasant and distracting. Time away from the dark places where Jack has been sending you. I believe that would do a great deal to relieve your mental tension." He uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the other way, his fingers laced over his knee. "A vacation is in the eye of the beholder. Beaches and cocktails may appeal to some, but clearly not to you. What do you prefer?"

It took Will a few moments to reply. His eyes unfocused, turning inward; he took his gaze to a distant corner of the room, then the ceiling, and finally to his own fidgeting hand. He licked his lips. "I like." He took a breath and blew it out. "I like being with my dogs. I like fishing. But I can do that at home."

This did not surprise Hannibal. Will was a pragmatic man and a homebody at heart: he'd built his house up around him like a nest, lined with scraps that gave him comfort and security. His idea of rest was not having to give up his energies to anyone else. And yet-- "But if you spend your leisure time at home, Jack will surely interrupt. Drag you out."

Will sighed. "Yeah."

Hannibal knew that Will was imagining the all too likely future: at home, lost in the contemplative peace of constructing a fishing lure; the ring of the telephone; Will attempting to ignore it at first, but at last giving in; "I'm on vacation," he would say, attempting to draw a line, and Jack would reply, "Make an exception." And Will would fold, as he always did.

"When was the last time you took a vacation?" Hannibal queried.

"I have holidays off. Had. The entire winter, more or less. A lot of the summer, too. Anytime there isn't an FBI Academy or National Academy in session, that's my time."

"And did you spend that time how you wished?"

"More or less. Sometimes I did research."

"But now that time is no longer yours," Hannibal said. "Jack keeps you away from your classes and your leisure. You will have to learn how to set boundaries. Assert your time and your space, in order to remain whole."

Will swallowed. "I guess."

Hannibal smiled. This one he allowed to crease the corners of his eyes in a manner that he knew made him look older and more kindly. "You deserve a vacation, Will."

Will looked up and then away again. His back bent and his shoulders hunched.

"You did not expect that," Hannibal observed.

"No," Will admitted.

"You work very hard for Jack. Even he must acknowledge that."

"He does."

"And I'm sure that if you were to broach the topic of a vacation to him, he would grant it to you," Hannibal went on. "He might even encourage it. He might say that it's about time."

Will's lips twitched up. "He wouldn't say that." He shifted in his seat, his nails scratching over the leather. "When was the last time _you_ took a vacation?"

This was how Will fought back when he was cornered: searching for hypocrisy sowed into common ground. Hannibal liked this about him; it allowed him to be honest with Will, which Will seemed to like and find disarming, and which Hannibal found in turn amusing and interesting.

"Last spring," Hannibal said, and after a moment's reflection, corrected that to, "No, I believe it was the year before that."

"That's over two years without a vacation; you work harder than I do."

Hannibal returned the acknowledgment with a wry tilt of his head. "A psychiatrist's work is never done."

Will resettled his weight in his chair. "Where did you go?"

"Venice." Hannibal tilted his head back and let the memory well up: the smell of the canals; the hush of the carless streets; the many bridges and plazas; church bells ringing in the Piazza San Marco. "Spring is the best time to visit: the canals are not quite as flooded as they are in the winter, the summer tourists have not yet descended on the city, and the weather is mild."

Will hummed, scratching his fingers over his scruff. "A long trip like that...I don't want to kennel my dogs, and I don't know that anyone would look after them for that long for me. It's a long drive."

"There's no reason you should be separated from them; they're a part of your mental well-being," Hannibal said. "But I believe you'll find a number of pet-friendly vacations. Many of them even include fishing." He drummed his fingers against his armrest, once. "May I offer you the use of my own vacation home? You are welcome to bring your dogs, so long as they don't cause extensive damage, which I know you would not allow."

"You have a vacation home?" Will blinked and his mouth gave a wry twist. "Of course you do. Where?"

"Montauk," Hannibal said, and at Will's raised eyebrows, added, "East Hampton."

"You have a vacation home in _the Hamptons?_ " Will sounded almost disgusted, though at who, Hannibal was not certain.

"It was bequeathed to me by one of my wealthier patients," Hannibal said. "It doesn't see very much use. I rent it out, on occasion, and share it with a few colleagues. I would be pleased to lend it to you for a week."

"No. No way." Will shook his head.

"I hear the fishing is excellent," Hannibal went on. "More saltwater fishing records than any other port in the world."

Will let out a little laugh. "I see what you're doing there, and the answer's still no. I, I couldn't. It's too generous." He looked away.

Hannibal folded and unfolded his hands and contemplated his next tack. He could push, or he could acquiesce. In truth, the idea of Will going on vacation did not appeal to him; he would be unable to observe Will in Montauk, and Will might deteriorate to such an extent that someone would notice and procure medical care for him. That would not do at all. He'd suggested the idea merely to see how Will would react, and he'd seen it. That was enough.

However, in the silence, Will seemed to have come to some conclusions of his own. "Maybe on one condition."

"What is it?" Hannibal refocused his attention.

Will looked at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, as if this was the best compromise he could manage in regards to eye contact. "If you come too."

Hannibal let his lips part in surprise.

Will looked away. "It's your house," he muttered. "It only seems right you should get to use it, once in a while. And it's been years since you took a vacation, and you were attacked by a psychopath lately, so you could probably use a break. But it's," he shifted in his chair, "probably it's not really your idea of a vacation, having to spend it with me and a, a pack of strays."

"On the contrary," Hannibal said, anticipation unfurling warm and bubbly in his chest, "that sounds like a wonderful time."

\-----

Two weeks later found them standing in front of Hannibal's vacation home, a Peter Blake-designed beach house on a grassy bluff above a narrow strip of private beach. It was a Blake-typical "upside-down" design, with the bedrooms on the first floor and the living and entertaining areas above, and a wraparound balcony with a magnificent view of the sea. The dogs bounded and rolled on the exuberant lawns, while Will stood and gaped. Hannibal picked up his suitcase and went inside.

The house's four bedrooms were identical save for color, each one with a queen-sized bed and a generous closet. After watching Will deposit his duffel bag in the blue room, Hannibal took the adjoining red room, so that they would share a bathroom. The dogs roamed hither and thither, their nails clicking against the immaculate hardwood floors. Clay poked her head into the room as Hannibal was hanging his clothes; he snapped his fingers and directed the dog out, and she left.

Emboldened by his successful staking of boundaries, Will had quickly listed out more: they would take Will's car (this was also a matter of simple logistics; Will's dogs would hardly fit in Hannibal's Bentley, and Hannibal did not want them to); neither of them were to bring any work (no case files or student papers for Will; no patient notes or work phone for Hannibal); Hannibal was not to feel as if he were "hosting" Will. That included cooking meals.

Hannibal had balked at this. Even without his secret delights, he regarded cooking as a primary form of relaxation and self-care, much as Will regarded fishing. Hannibal had very little idea of how he would occupy his time if not in the kitchen. He had said as much to Will, and at last Will had acquiesced: "You can cook for yourself, of course, but not for me."

"I would consider it incredibly rude," Hannibal had protested.

"I can help you cook, then, if you want to cook for me," Will had replied.

"This is your vacation as well. You should not feel obligated to assist me in the kitchen."

"I can handle peeling a few potatoes. No weird meat, though," Will had added. "I'm not eating liver on my vacation."

Ah, well. One couldn't have everything.

Hannibal found Will on the upper floor, standing on the deck, gazing out at the swimming pool and surrounded by a hot tub, a propane grill, teak lounge chairs, and Winston. Will did not belong here, with his Sears catalog shirts and his Dockers and his pack of stray dogs, any more than Hannibal belonged in the tiki bar down the road alongside the sand-bitten surfers. But it pleased Hannibal to see Will out of his element, to see what Will would do.

"Is it to your liking?" he asked.

Will turned to Hannibal with an astonished look. "Some lady just _left you this house?_ "

"Yes. I believe she thought I needed to work less. Her children were quite displeased, but it was all legal." Hannibal put his hands in his pockets.

"Why the fuck is there a _pool?_ The ocean is _right there_." Will gestured; they could, in fact, see the ocean from here, and the sign that said PRIVATE BEACH.

"The pool is heated."

Hannibal wondered if Will's class resentment would rear its head here: the poor Southern boy, standing in a beach house valued at $20 million that he would imagine Hannibal had gotten for free. But Will only pressed his lips together against whatever thoughts struggled to voice themselves. He turned back to the view of the ocean. Hannibal left him to it and went to check on the kitchen.

The property manager had stocked the refrigerator and pantry ahead of their arrival. There were rice, beans, pasta, olive oil, and a full complement of dried herbs and spices in the pantry; milk, eggs, butter, and half and half in the refrigerator. Hannibal unwrapped a stick of butter and set it on a dish on the counter to soften. He checked the freezer and found a couple of ribeye steaks dated last week, along with two swordfish steaks. He moved the ribeyes to the refrigerator to defrost.

The click of nails against the hardwood floor announced Winston's presence, and hence, Will's. Hannibal shut the refrigerator door and turned to find Will leaning against the counter.

"Planning dinner already?" Will asked.

It was not yet six o'clock. If Hannibal had wanted to cook dinner, he would be about to begin. But there was no produce in the house and Hannibal was not about to suggest a slab of meat for dinner, though Will would likely not have objected.

"I was planning on going out," Will said. "Or maybe ordering a pizza. If you want to join me."

"I'll join you, but not for pizza," Hannibal replied, letting his distaste for the notion show.

Will smiled, close-lipped but with a dash of mischief. Winston leaned against his legs. "You're on vacation; you could live a little."

"Any pizza that can be delivered is not pizza worth eating," Hannibal said. In truth, Hannibal had been hungry too often as a child to turn up his nose at much, even a too-greasy pizza with thin, too-sweet sauce and a flavorless crust. But Will wanted to poke at the image of the buttoned-up millionaire socialite, and Hannibal wanted to let him. It was an urge Hannibal could identify with.

But Will apparently decided to spare him for now. "Then is there a restaurant around here that lives up to your standards?"

"I'm sure we can find something."

\-----

"I can't believe some lady just left you her beach house," Will said, once they were seated and had ordered their food.

"Clients have left me a lot of such things over the years. Art, money, box seats at the symphony. They're grateful for the peace of mind that I've helped them secure. Though this house is, perhaps, the single most valuable thing that has ever been bequeathed to me." Hannibal laced his fingers together on the table and leaned across the tablecloth just slightly; he lowered his voice, to give their conversation an air of gravity and intimacy. "This bothers you?"

Will looked away. "No."

Hannibal didn't move. He had watched Will taking in the other diners. No ties and jackets, no pearls, but cashmere sweaters and designer dresses: the casual attire of the casually wealthy. Hannibal knew that Will felt like a poor relation in his plaid button-down and his dog-walking boots, next to Hannibal's Armani shirts and his Patek Philippe watch.

"People don't just...give away something for nothing," Will said at last.

Hannibal had not received the beach house for nothing; he had listened to this woman's petty anxieties and neuroses for countless hours that he would never get back, and he had worked upon her mind until she loved Hannibal more dearly than her own children. But that was not what Will was talking about. "You're my friend, as well as my patient," Hannibal said. "I want to see you well. This costs me very little."

"Besides missing a week of work," Will pointed out.

Hannibal conceded that with a nod. "Although as you pointed out, I also deserve a vacation." He smiled. Will returned it with the barest twitch of his lips, an automatic gesture that failed to flower.

Their food came: a long-handled skillet heaped with mussels, clams, scallops, and shrimp in a pool of garlic and butter, with four sticks of bread sticking out of the sides; a square plate with slices of pork tenderloin circling a watercress salad and a mound of chutney, topped with delicate shreds of jamón serrano. The food here was served family-style, platters in the center of the table, with large spoons that the diners could use to dole out their own portions. Hannibal picked up his knife and fork and moved a piece of tenderloin to his plate, along with a forkful of salad and a few twists of the jamón.

"Did you take _any_ time off after Budge attacked you?" Will asked, picking up his own cutlery and imitating Hannibal. "We had our appointment that week as usual."

"I canceled my appointments for the next day." Hannibal used the slotted spoon to move a few shells to his plate from the skillet. "I had an emergency appointment with my own therapist."

"That's all?" Will took a few shellfish as well.

"It was what I felt I needed, and I didn't wish for it to dominate my life." Hannibal sawed off a bite-sized piece of the tenderloin and used his knife to smear it with a bit of chutney. "You know that feeling well, I believe."

Will cut his tenderloin into four bites before replying. He kept his attention focused on his plate and did not look at Hannibal. "My father used to tell me that I had to get back on the horse."

"That was why you went to the shooting range," Hannibal said, after he had chewed and swallowed his initial bite. "I can't help but notice that you demonstrate considerably more concern for my mental well-being than your own."

"Maybe your mental well-being merits more consideration. You're a civilian, after all."

Hannibal smiled. "I am not a delicate flower."

"Neither am I," Will shot back.

Hannibal took a moment to enjoy his food. The chutney was too sweet, but the pork was good: tender and not overcooked, and a better breed of pig than one typically found at the supermarket. The shellfish were excellent: fresh and sweet, and the garlic was not overpowering. The breadsticks were adequate; Hannibal would not have been surprised if they had been from Olive Garden.

"Sorry," Will said, at last. "I know you mean well."

Hannibal swallowed his morsel of bread. "You believe that gifts must come with expectations."

"Don't they?" Will pushed an empty shell around on his plate. "People expect gifts to be returned. They're favors."

"Gifts are also non-verbal declarations of affection." Hannibal took the last scallop from the skillet. "Indications that someone was thinking of you, or cares about you." 

"And then you have to get them a gift back," said Will. "Otherwise you feel bad. Guilty."

"Do you feel guilty, that you're here on vacation?"

Will ate the last slice of tenderloin before replying. "Maybe."

"Do you feel badly that this is a gift you cannot return, or that you are missing work?" Hannibal cut a bite off of his pork.

"A little of both, I guess, but more the first one. I can't say I feel too guilty about not looking at dead bodies. I feel bad that this is a favor I can't repay you." Will stuffed a forkful of watercress in his mouth.

"Perhaps you've already done me a favor," Hannibal said with a smile. "After all, I am on vacation as well." He ate his scallop. It was good.

\-----

The dogs rushed them en masse as soon as Hannibal unlocked the door, bumping against Hannibal in their haste to get to Will and leaving a mélange of pale hairs on his pants. Hannibal had long resigned himself to this side effect of Will's acquaintance. He went to his room to change into loungewear, listening as the dogs followed Will to the lower deck, where he poured out kibble and scooped out canned food for them, all the while saying things like, "Sorry dinner's late today" and "Were you good while we were gone?" It was curious, the way people talked to their pets.

When Hannibal returned to the front foyer, the door was open, but they were not on the grounds. Down on the beach, probably. Hannibal shut the door against the wind and went to investigate Will's room.

Will's duffel bag was still on the bed, unzipped; his shirts were hung in the closet, but he had left his pants, socks, and underwear folded in the bag, along with a few cans of Eukanuba beef and vegetables stew. It was likely Will expected to live out of his bag for the duration of his stay. That was the type of travel Will was used to: short stays in motel rooms, barely sleeping, no one caring if your clothes were wrinkled or creased. Hannibal searched the pockets. A bottle of aspirin; a quart-sized ziploc bag of toiletries; an old boarding pass from a long-ago flight to Denver, Colorado; a few pens; a handful of faded receipts; an unmarked and anonymous key, probably for a lost padlock; a pouch of pepperoni-flavored dog treats. Hannibal left it all as it was and went looking for Will. 

The grass felt good against his bare feet. Hannibal stood there on the lawn for a moment, letting his eyes adjust and admiring the stars, before feeling his way down the narrow wooden stairs to the private beach. Night had turned the sea into a dark, rolling mass whose fingers crept up onto the pale strip of sand, catching at Will's ankles and drenching the dogs' fur. Will craned his arm back and snapped it forward. Hannibal could not see the stick that Will had surely thrown, but he knew it was there from the way the dogs burst into motion, dashing parallel to the shore in hot pursuit.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Hannibal said, coming alongside Will.

Will looked at Hannibal over his shoulder and shook his head. The dogs came trotting back. Harvard, the large white one with the brown patch over his face, was in the lead, a driftwood stick dangling from his mouth. Will took it from him and hurled it again. The dogs took off, sand flying in their wake.

Hannibal did not know how Will spent his time, when he was not teaching or working on cases or sitting in Hannibal's office. He could guess; he had been in Will's home. He had seen the flies, the boat motor, the student papers strewn untidily about, the dogeared paperbacks with their broken spines, the bed in the living room despite the existence of a second floor. Will was master of a pack, but he was a solitary man with solitary pursuits.

"The dogs look as if they're having a good time," said Hannibal.

This time, Winston brought the stick back and dropped it at Will's feet. Will threw it again. "Dogs are easy. They're happy as long as they have a place to sleep and food to eat. They like a change of scenery and space to run now and then. They're easy to please."

"Compared to people," said Hannibal. "People lie. About their motivations, their desires, their crimes. They break their promises. Dogs do none of these things."

Will didn't reply. This time the victor was one of the small dogs, with curly hair and a severe underbite, that Hannibal recalled was named Mal. She dropped the stick at Will's feet and gazed up at him adoringly, tail wagging. This time, Will held the stick out to Hannibal. Hannibal took it; the wood was sandy and gritty beneath his fingers, and surely was coated in a thick layer of dog spittle. He drew his arm back and hurled it into the darkness. The dogs sped off, and Hannibal felt powerful, that the dogs had done his bidding.

\-----

Will went to bed at the eminently reasonable hour of midnight, mumbling an awkward goodnight to Hannibal with the uneasy manner of a man who thinks it would be rude to not acknowledge his housemate at all, but is aware that they are not the usual sort of housemates. Hannibal acknowledged the ritual with a smile and a nod, bade Will sleep well, and went back to skimming his eyes over Marcus Aurelius' _Meditations_. After an hour, he set the book down and padded downstairs. The dogs had been given a bedroom of their own; the door was open, and Hannibal could see that some of them were sprawled on the bed while others dozed on the floor. A few of them raised their heads as Hannibal walked by, but none of them made a sound.

Will's door was open as well. Hannibal stood in the doorway, his hands at his sides, and took a deep breath. He wished there were more light to see by, that he could make out more than the dim outline of Will's twisted shape atop the sheets. Will had kicked off his blankets, so that his legs were bare. His breathing hissed between his teeth and caught in his larynx to force out a whimper alongside it. If Hannibal got closer, he would be able to see Will's eyelids twitch, but if he got too close then Will might wake.

What would happen, if Will woke?

Hannibal drew closer, until he was standing next to Will. He could smell Will's salty-sour sweat. Will's eyelashes fluttered, his eyelids trembling with the force of his eyes' rapid darting behind them. Hannibal wanted to press his hand against Will's chest to feel his rapid and irregular heartbeat. It was too dark to see if Will had an erection.

He stood there until Will came awake with a gasp, and it was beautiful. The sweat in his hair and on his brow was beautiful; the wide O his mouth made was beautiful; the fear in his eyes was beautiful. Will sat up, panting and trembling, and Hannibal wanted to gather him up in his arms and drink him down. Instead, he put a hand on Will's shoulder. His t-shirt was damp and clung to his body; Hannibal would have Will's sweat on his palm afterward.

Will jerked. He pressed his hands against his eyes. "Sorry, sorry. I'm not usually loud."

"I was not asleep," Hannibal said. "Are your nightmares often so violent?"

Will started to shake his head, then stopped and shrugged. He let his hands drop to his lap. "Sorry, I should have warned you."

"Not at all," said Hannibal. He slid his hand down to cup Will's elbow. "Come, let's change bedrooms. Your sheets are damp."

"No point, I'll just have another one. Just put some towels down, it'll be fine." Will shook off Hannibal's hand, dug his knuckles into the mattress, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Hannibal frowned. "You have nightmares with this frequency?"

"Yeah. Lately. It's fine. Where are the towels?" Will got to his feet and ran a hand through his damp hair.

"There's a linen cupboard in the bathroom. Do you remember your dream?"

Will shook his head, once, and then nodded. He did not attempt to make eye contact, and Hannibal did not press him for it.

"Then I have a technique that I believe may be helpful for you. Come, let's go elsewhere for this; you should not remain in a bedroom where you don't intend to sleep."

Hannibal touched Will's elbow again but did not take him by it to lead him out of the room. Winston, upon seeing that Will was awake and about, got to his feet and trotted after them. Will smiled and fondled the dog's ears, and left his hand atop the dog's head as they made their way to the upper deck. It was partially enclosed, so that they were sheltered from the worst of the wind, and not too cold. Nonetheless, Hannibal turned on the heat lamp between the two lounge chairs, took one, and invited Will to make himself comfortable in the other one. Will lowered himself warily, as if uncertain that the chair would bear his weight. Winston curled up between their chairs, next to the heat lamp.

"Tell me about your dream," Hannibal said.

Will folded his hands over his stomach and stared up at the slatted ceiling, where the moon hung over their heads like a sickle. "You're not supposed to be working."

"You're my friend," Hannibal said. "Friends use their skills for each other. Tell me about your dream."

Will swallowed; Hannibal could see the shadows of his throat move. "I dreamt about the Ripper."

Hannibal had to make an effort to control his expression, though it was dark, though Will was looking up at the sky and not at him. He took a deep breath in through his nose. "What did you see?"

"I couldn't see his face, but I knew it was him. He was behind me, always behind me, and I was alone in the dark, walking, and I couldn't look back."

"Why couldn't you look?"

"I don't know. I just couldn't. It made sense in the dream. And then, after a while, he gored me."

Hannibal blinked. "Gored you? Like a bull?"

"Yes. On his horns, but they were made of knives." Will took a deep, trembling breath that Hannibal wished he were close enough to feel. "I looked down and there were knives coming out of me. Branching knives, like antlers. That was when I woke up."

Hannibal nodded, though Will was still not looking at him. "Here's what I would like you to do. Imagine a new ending for your nightmare."

A brief, nonplussed pause. "What?"

"Think of a different way for this dream to end. Visualize it. Make it as real as your dream."

"What, like an ending where I don't die?" Will put his hand down. Winston nosed it, and Will combed his fingers through Winston's ears.

"That would be a good place to start, yes."

Will shifted in his chair. "Okay, so instead of goring me, the Chesapeake Ripper just...goes away."

"Don't stop there. Change other details in your dream," Hannibal suggested. "You said that it was dark. You can make it light."

Will closed his eyes. His eyelashes were dark smudges against his cheek. "I see something ahead of me," he murmured. "A light, growing. It repels the Chesapeake Ripper, and he turns away from it, but I can go on." He opened his eyes again. "This is stupid."

"On the contrary, it's an effective cognitive behavioral therapy technique," Hannibal said. "If it makes you more comfortable, you do not have to tell me how you've altered the ending. But it is imperative that you do. You regain control of the dream, control of your subconscious mind. Hold onto that new ending, and the next time you wake from a nightmare, give that one a new ending as well."

Will blinked up at the night sky. He did not say anything more. Hannibal wanted to crack open his skull and dip his fingers in.


	2. Sunday

Hannibal was stirred from his rest the next morning by a great deal of barking, whining, and claws skittering across the floor. Will hissed for the dogs to be quiet, but it made little difference. One of them bumped into Hannibal's bedroom door in its eagerness. Hannibal lay in bed with his eyes closed. At last, the door opened and shut, and the noises faded and vanished altogether. Hannibal got out of bed.

There were eggs, at least, for breakfast, but no cheese, no bacon, not even bread for toast. Hannibal must really have a word with the manager about what constituted "stocking" the refrigerator and pantry. Another look turned up an aluminum can of steel-cut oats. Hannibal held it in his hand and looked out the window, where he could see Will's pack running back and forth on the lawn, rolling on their backs in doggy ecstasy.

By the time Will returned with his noisy pack, Hannibal had coffee brewing in the French press and a pan bubbling on the stove. He heard Will pour out the kibble. After a pause, during which the dogs chewed loudly, Will called, "Dr. Lecter?"

"Up here," Hannibal called back, pouring out the coffee. 

Will mounted the stairs. He was still in his shorts and t-shirt, his hair unbrushed. All of Will's hard, defensive edges were softened and inviting. Hannibal wanted to press his thumb to the corner of Will's mouth, to see what would happen. Instead, he slid one of the mugs across the breakfast bar. "Breakfast?" Hannibal asked.

"Sure," Will said. His voice was rough. And then, after a mouthful of coffee, "Can I help?"

"You may fetch the eggs, and a couple of spoons." Hannibal dolloped out a bowlful of oatmeal for Will and another for himself. Will had placed the eggs on the counter for him. He cracked an egg into each, poured in a dash of tamari, and finished each bowl with a handful of sesame seeds.

Will watched the performance with his eyebrows climbing ever higher. He gave his bowl a cautious prod. "This is oatmeal, isn't it?"

"Yes, cooked with water and a little salt. You saw everything else I put into it." Hannibal stirred his oatmeal, swirling yolk and bits of egg white into the grains. "An improvisation, inspired by the Japanese rice gruel called okayu. It would be better if I had more fresh ingredients--scallions, for example, would have been a nice touch."

Will took a cautious spoonful of his oatmeal, swallowed, and then another. "It's good," he said. "I guess I always thought oatmeal had to be sweet."

"That's how it's often prepared, yes, with brown sugar and dried fruit. I prefer to start my day with more protein." Hannibal ate a bite of his oatmeal and wished that he had some furikake, or nori, or any seaweed. That was what this dish really needed.

At least Will was eating with, if not enthusiasm, at least no temerity. "So I'm guessing grocery shopping is high on your list today."

"Yes." Hannibal crunched a sesame seed between his teeth. "I'm afraid I'll need to borrow your car. I don't anticipate taking more than an hour."

Will swallowed his next spoonful without chewing. "I'll drive."

Hannibal looked at him. "There's no need."

Will pointed his spoon at Hannibal. "This is my vacation as well as yours, and you're not supposed to be hosting me, which means I should pay for half of the groceries. At least. Since you're going to be feeding me too. Besides, I need to get more food for the dogs; I didn't bring enough."

Always with the dogs. Hannibal should have asked the manager to stock dog food as well. "If you insist," Hannibal said.

"I do insist." Will looked down at his bowl and dug his spoon into it. "Thanks for breakfast, by the way. I don't usually eat breakfast."

"You're welcome. Did you have any more nightmares?"

Will's shoulder jerked. "One more. I woke up and changed the ending, like you told me to."

"It will work, if you continue it. Later we'll go over how to encourage pleasant dreams in their stead."

Will's lips curled at the corners. "Yeah, that'll be something."

They finished their breakfasts and drank their coffees. Hannibal allowed Will to clear their dishes and stack them in the dishwasher. They changed, Hannibal into pale trousers and a light blue shirt, Will into more of his normal everyday wear. Will whistled the dogs inside and Hannibal locked them in.

Will put them on the road headed west as Hannibal programmed a new location into Will's GPS. "There's a farmers market in Amagansett, if I recall correctly," he said. "If it's not too late in the year. We'll check there first, and we'll stop in a supermarket for your dogs' food."

"That's fine," Will said.

Hannibal could not remember the last time he had needed to ask permission to borrow someone's car; perhaps never. Nor could he remember the last time he had to go out of the way to run an errand that had no relevance to himself. People came to his home and ate what he fed them; patients came to his practice seeking his guidance and advice; in the operating theater, all decisions had been in his hands. He felt the stretch in his routine as one might feel the stretch in a disused muscle, the tug at tendon and ligament. Now he had to be considerate of Will's wishes and desires; he had to think of the dogs.

Well. He did not _have_ to. But the vacation had barely begun, and there was still a lot to observe.

The farmers market was indeed open, and parking was not yet difficult at this relatively early hour. Hannibal purchased a reusable bag from the information booth and strode past the prepared foods without a second look: he did not care about fresh-baked scones or handmade pastas or artisan hummus. He purchased a loaf of white Italian bread, four yellow onions, a bunch of carrots, and a bunch of celery before Will caught up to him.

"Hey," said Will. "I said I was paying for half."

Hannibal slipped his wallet back in his pocket. "My apologies," he said. "I forgot."

Will took the bag of groceries from him. "What do you have in mind for all this, anyway?"

"Nothing, for now. They are staples."

"Jesus."

Will paid for the corn and potatoes that Hannibal selected, and it was Will who became strangely enthusiastic about and purchased a watermelon, and it was also Will who purchased a pound of frozen grass-fed ground beef.

Hannibal had been contemplating osso buco. He looked up, frowning. "What for?"

"Burgers." At Hannibal's blank look, Will said, "You have a grill!"

"I did not say anything," Hannibal said, evenly.

"We're having burgers for lunch," Will said. "We can grill some of that corn, too. Is there somewhere around here we can buy cheese?"

\-----

Will insisted on cheddar or that oxymoron known as American cheese for their burgers, neither of which were available at the Amagansett farmers market. That was just as well, because there was also only handmade raw dog food at the farmers market, and while Will did not have anything against raw feeding as a philosophy, he did not want to upset his dogs' diets so suddenly. So they stopped by a nearby pet store so that Will could purchase more Eukanuba, and an IGA for a bag of sliced American cheese and a six-pack of beer. Hannibal purchased bacon and a wedge of under-ripened Brie.

The smell of dog assaulted Hannibal as soon as he opened the front door, now that he had left and come back. It wasn't as strong as it was at Will's house, but it was enough to darken his already low mood. The dogs rushed them, tails wagging and tongues lolling; Hannibal pushed his way through them and mounted the stairs to put the groceries away. Potatoes and onions on the counter; vegetables in the refrigerator; meat in the sink to defrost. Putting the kitchen in order was always a balm to his soul, which was fortunate when Will came upstairs and asked Hannibal where the cleaning supplies were; one of the dogs had vomited on the rug in one of the bedrooms.

"I've no idea," Hannibal said in even tones.

"I'll, uh, I'll look around." Will ducked his head and went back downstairs.

The only musical instrument in the house was a baby grand piano in a corner of the dining room. Hannibal wanted to play--compose, ideally--but Will might come upstairs, peer over Hannibal's shoulder, ask inane questions, and with him would come the dogs, leaving fur all over the rug and the furniture. He could chop vegetables, a soothing and repetitive task, but Will clearly had designs for lunch and might chastise Hannibal for taking all the work upon himself.

At last, Hannibal shut himself in the downstairs study. He found paper in the desk drawer and a pencil and lost himself in recreating the Piazza San Marco from memory. It was winter, in his memory, and the canals were flooded. Pedestrians moved from place to place on wooden bridges erected above the water. The sky was gray and everything was so still and quiet without the hum of traffic that buzzed in the background of all American cities, and without the raucous summer crowds. Hannibal had dined well there.

When he emerged from the study, it was to music coming from upstairs: the staticky hiss of a radio. The dogs were lying around in various stages of repose and did not move to follow Hannibal as he mounted the stairs. Will was slicing a tomato. He had his sleeves rolled and was holding the tomato incorrectly.

"May I help?" Hannibal asked, coming to stand next to Will. The lettuce was already leafed in a colander in the sink; the corn already shucked; the onion sliced into rings.

Will shrugged and added his sliced tomato to the plate. "Everything's pretty much under control. You wanna cut up the watermelon?"

Hannibal fetched the watermelon from the refrigerator and began slicing it into wedges, then cubes. Will formed two enormous red beef patties and carried them and the corn out to the deck to lay on the grill. He came back inside and got out two beers from the refrigerator, popped the caps off of them, and handed one to Hannibal. Hannibal accepted it despite his general abhorrence of American beer.

"What did you have planned for the rest of today?" Will asked.

"I hadn't thought that far," Hannibal said. The beer tasted watery and unbalanced. He set it down and resumed cubing watermelon. "A walk, perhaps. Or I may do some reading."

"What do you normally do on vacation?"

"Much the same things that I do at home," Hannibal said. "Cook. Read. Play music. If I'm in a different city I may go to museums or take in some music."

Will leaned with his back against the counter, the neck of his beer gripped loosely in his fingers. "By yourself?"

"Yes; there's a great deal of freedom to be had in solitude. You know something of that, I believe."

"Yeah." Will looked away and took a swallow of his beer, his throat working. He excused himself to look on the burgers. Hannibal swept the cubes of watermelon into a large bowl.

"How do you like your burger?" Will called from outside.

"Rare," Hannibal called back.

"I'm not surprised."

They ate on the lawn, a plate of grilled corn and the bowl of watermelon on the table between them. Hannibal's burger was perfectly rare, his bun slightly toasted, his lettuce crisp. The execrable American cheese melted well. Will seemed the happiest that Hannibal had ever seen him, sucking watermelon juice off his fingers and eating his cheeseburger as the dogs frolicked around them. Beef juices and crumbs caught in the scruff on his face. The breeze off the water was brisk, but not too unpleasant yet.

"My compliments to the chef," Hannibal said.

"It's nothing much," Will said. "Just burgers."

"The appropriate response," Hannibal said, "is 'you're welcome; I'm glad you like it.'"

Will ducked his head. "You know, I almost expected you to eat it with a knife and fork."

"I am on vacation, as you have pointed out many times."

Will smiled. "We should have brought Abigail. I think she'd like this place."

"I imagine Abigail likes any place that is not Port Haven, at the moment," Hannibal said. "But I'm afraid we would have run into a great deal of resistance from Alana, especially after I removed her from hospital without her permission."

"Yeah, well." Will brushed crumbs from his pants legs. Buffy nosed in the grass around their chairs. "Maybe another time."

Hannibal glanced at Will. "You think there'll be another time, then?"

Will reached down and buried his fingers in Buffy's curly fur. "Someday, I mean. She won't be in the hospital forever."

"She may not want anything to do with us, either. We are remnants from a very traumatic time in her life."

Will's earlier contentment vanished into the downward turn of his mouth. He continued to scratch Buffy behind the ears. Buster bounded over and nosed at Will's other hand. Hannibal wished he were closer.

"The idea upsets you," Hannibal observed.

It was as if a wall of thorns had suddenly grown between them. Will gave Hannibal a brief, irritated look as he rubbed Buster between the ears. "No psychoanalyzing."

"My apologies," Hannibal said. "But I hope you know you can talk to me about anything you like. As friends."

Will turned his attention back to his dogs. Buster was a greedy little dog, shoving his way past Buffy for a larger share of Will's scratches and petting. Will had to work hard to make sure both dogs got equal portions of his attention, but no matter how much Will pushed Buster aside, Buster always wormed his way in for more. "I guess I don't like to think of her being able to forget me that easily, not when I'll never forget her."

"Even if she never spoke to either of us again," Hannibal said, "I assure you, she would not forget us."

\-----

Hannibal sat at the piano in silence, hands resting on the keys, eyes on the blank staff paper before him. His eyes were half-lidded; he was still down to the very center of his being. At length, some emotion wound through him, like a splash of ink dropped into a glass of water. He pressed a key, and then another, and then his other hand came up to add another, complementary melody. He stopped and made a few notations.

They had cleaned up together after lunch, Will scrubbing the grill and taking out the garbage while Hannibal wiped down the counters and put their dishes in the dishwasher. Will was outside now, with his dogs. Hannibal could hear them barking, very faintly. He added a few staccato notes and wrote those down as well. Then he played the entire phrase together: it was discordant and unsettling, but intriguing. He wanted to sit forward, the better to hear what would happen next.

He looked up forty-five minutes later to see that Will was in the dining room with him, sitting at the head of the table with his fingers buried in Winston's ruff.

"Sorry," Will said. "I didn't want to interrupt you. It sounded nice."

Hannibal set down his pen. "It can't have been very interesting. Composing is very repetitive, not at all like listening to a finished piece."

Will shrugged. "That doesn't bother me."

Tying flies; fishing; training dogs. No, of course listening to the same fragment of melody and counter-melody being played over and over again did not bother Will. Hannibal played another few notes, paused, and played them again, this time with a single alteration. He was very conscious of someone else in the room.

"Do you want me to leave?" Will asked.

"As you wish." Hannibal started the piece from the beginning, tagging the new phrase onto the end. It did not suit, and he started again. "I've never composed with someone else in the room. It's a new feeling."

"Why do you like to compose?"

"Music says what words cannot," Hannibal said, pausing to scratch a few new notes onto the page. "And it is an act of creation. I like to bring new beauty into the world."

Winston shook himself and trotted out of the room. Will watched him go. "You make it sound like giving birth."

"In many ways it is." Hannibal played the piece from the beginning again. "There is the conception, the nurturing, the labor. But unlike children, a new song requires only one parent."

"And the result has no mind of its own. You've created something new, but you're still alone." Will placed both hands on the table in front of him, tracing the grain of the glossy wood with his eyes. "Freedom in solitude."

"Complete freedom," Hannibal agreed. He set down his pencil and turned toward Will. He waited, hands clasped in his lap.

"Do you ever wish that you weren't quite so...free?" Will asked.

Hannibal inclined his head. "I have certain habits and proclivities that incline me towards solitude. I am a man who requires freedom."

Will had an expression on his face that suggested he was holding his tongue. Hannibal wished that he would speak.

"However," Hannibal went on, "I cannot say that I have never been lonely." He paused. "Do you enjoy it? Your freedom?"

Will did not meet his eyes. His gaze was distant. Maybe he saw something else, beyond Hannibal, beyond the walls of the house. "I do," he said, and nothing more. Eventually, he got up and went away, and Hannibal went back to his composition.

\----

At around six o'clock, Hannibal began dicing an onion. Will was in the living room, not so many feet away, channel surfing. The vacation house had satellite TV and nearly a thousand channels; Hannibal did not care for any of them and consistently forgot that he had television at all. Will, who had apparently not encountered television in decades, was fascinated by the array of programming, and for the past hour or two there had been a low hum of background noise in the house as Will explored the various sports channels, lingered on a nature documentary about cheetahs, and watched twenty minutes of an action movie that featured a great deal of gunfire. The dogs had joined him, one by one, leaving shed hairs all over the upholstery and rug. But when Hannibal began dicing an onion, his knife beating a regular rhythm against the bamboo cutting board, Will turned off the television and came to join him.

"Can I help?" Will asked, leaning against the counter.

"You may leaf the rest of the lettuce," Hannibal said. "It will go in a salad." He began slicing a tomato.

"What if I had plans for it?"

Hannibal looked up. "Do you?"

"No, but I might have." Will got out the lettuce and began to leaf it in the sink.

Hannibal cut the tomato into small dice. Juice and seeds pooled onto the cutting board. "You don't cook."

"I just cooked us lunch."

"You don't cook on a regular basis," Hannibal amended.

"Not really, no. Seems pointless, just for myself." Will rinsed the lettuce leaves and left them in the colander. "Anything else you want me to do?"

"Cut the kernels off of the grilled corn." Hannibal began slicing another tomato. This one he left in large chunks. "Do you enjoy cooking for others?"

Will found the leftover grilled corn in the refrigerator, wrapped in foil. He got down a knife, a cutting board, and, after opening a few different cabinets, a bowl. "Kind of, yeah. Don't you? You're always asking people over for dinner."

"The pleasure I derive from cooking for others is different from the pleasure I derive from dining alone. Will you fetch me the eggs and the parmesan?" Will handed him the eggs and the cheese. Hannibal cracked six eggs into a bowl and grated the parmesan over them. He added a pinch of salt and a few grinds of pepper and began to whisk.

"What're you making?" Will asked, looking over his shoulder. "Quiche?"

"Frittata," Hannibal said. "Something light, I thought, after such a heavy lunch."

"I saw the steaks in the fridge," Will said.

Hannibal did not have to work for the smile he gave Will. "There's always tomorrow." He set a heavy skillet on the stove and poured a generous pool of oil into the bottom. He left it to heat as he chopped a handful of parsley. "Do you know how to make a vinaigrette?"

"No idea."

"Olive oil, red wine vinegar, mustard, salt and pepper," said Hannibal. "I believe I saw an empty bottle in the pantry. Start with four tablespoons of olive oil, two teaspoons of vinegar, and a teaspoon of mustard, and work from there." He tipped the diced onion into the pan, where they began to sizzle. Hannibal shook the pan to distribute them evenly.

He heard the sound of cabinet doors and drawers opening and closing. "I put it in the bottle?"

"And the salt and pepper. Then close the top and shake it."

" _Shake it?_ "

"Yes; it will help the ingredients emulsify. You can do it in the blender or with a whisk if you wish, but that's the purpose of the bottle."

"That just seems so low tech for you." Will measured first the olive oil, then the vinegar, and finally the mustard into the bottle. "It's so...inelegant."

"It's effective." Hannibal added the diced tomatoes. The air in the kitchen began to smell distinctly summery.

Will capped and shook the bottle. Hannibal watched out of the corner of his eye as Will unscrewed the cap, ran his finger around the lip of the bottle, and sucked the dressing off the tip. "Tastes fine to me." He looked up at Hannibal.

"Then dress and toss the salad." Hannibal poured the eggs over the tomato and onion, then scattered the parsley over the top. He turned the heat down on the skillet. "What about cooking for yourself seems so pointless?"

Will used Hannibal's recently vacated cutting board to chop the lettuce. "Well, the outcome isn't that great, since we're not all gourmet chefs like you. It creates a huge mess, and we don't all have dishwashers like you, either. I don't always get through the leftovers, so that's wasted food." He tossed the lettuce, the corn, and the large chunks of tomato into a large bowl Hannibal retrieved for him. He poured the vinaigrette over it and tossed it with his hands. "It's just a pain. It's not worth it."

"If I came to your house one evening, hungry, would you prepare food for me?" Hannibal asked.

"Yeah, of course."

"We delight in cooking for other people because it is a way we demonstrate care," Hannibal said. He moved the rack in the oven from the center to the top and turned the broiler on to high. "It's a lesson we learned from our mothers and fathers. Table fellowship is a way of forming bonds with friends and neighbors. The word companion comes from words that mean, 'one we break bread with.' So if you do not cook for yourself, Will," Hannibal slid the skillet from the stovetop to the oven, "then my question to you would be, why do you not show yourself the care that you would show to me?"

Will didn't answer, but Hannibal had not expected him to. He got out plates, silverware, and a knife for slicing the frittata. Will washed his hands and went downstairs to feed the dogs.

They ate on the deck this time, in view of the ocean, the heat lamp radiating warmth against their backs. No dogs were with them. They ate in companionable silence, forks scraping against their plates as the sky dimmed. Hannibal did not think about anything in particular, and he felt at peace.

"I rented a boat," Will said. "For fishing. Day after tomorrow. Do you mind looking after the dogs?"

"It's no trouble." Hannibal took a swallow of the appalling beer and rested the lip of the bottle against his chin. "I look forward to your catch; we won't have to worry about meals then."

"Is that all you ever think about?" Will asked. "Food?"

"A great deal of the time, yes. It's the great common feature in our lives: we need to eat. Other desires, other circumstances, come and go, but we will always be hungry."

"But we can be hungry for more than food."

"That's true," Hannibal acknowledged. He stacked his empty plate on top of Will's on the table between them. "What do you hunger for?"

Will rested his beer against his thigh. "The same things as everyone else. Security. Stability. Purpose."

"Understanding? Love?" said Hannibal.

Will gave him a sideways glare. "No psychoanalyzing," he said, and took a drink from his beer.

"My apologies," said Hannibal.

The sky was well and truly dark now, stars peeping out here and there. They would be able to see some stars--more than in Baltimore, but perhaps not as many as could be seen from Will's farmhouse. It would not be like looking up in the middle of the desert, or from a high mountaintop. The Milky Way would not sprawl across the sky for them here.

"Thanks for dinner," Will said. "That was good."

"There's no need to thank me," Hannibal said. "You helped."

"Yeah, but I mean, if it'd just been me here, I probably wouldn't have eaten that well. I probably would've ordered pizza," he added, giving Hannibal a wry look. Hannibal's returning smile was nearly involuntary. "So thanks."

"Are you finding that you're having a better time here with company, than you would alone?"

Will went back to looking at the ocean. The breeze ruffled his hair against his forehead. "Yes, actually." He glanced at Hannibal. "What about you?"

"I feel the same," Hannibal replied.


	3. Monday

Hannibal had caught an eagle.

It was cold and snowy all around, nothing but white fields and slate-gray sky and the smell of ice and pine. He felt the quick drumbeat of her heart against his hands and the hot blood under her skin and her chestnut feathers. She was fierce and proud even held upside down. Hannibal looked into her golden eyes and recognized kin.

He let her go.

The draft from her enormous wings nearly knocked him down. She flapped away, toward the trees. Hannibal followed, his legs stiff and slow in the knee-high snow. Time passed as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, sweating beneath the wool and fur, his breath puffing in white clouds before his face. He came across the eagle again, this time crouched in the snow, her wings mantled over three ugly white-downy chicks with gray-tipped beaks and yellow claws, peeping feebly.

Hannibal scooped them up and shoved them down the front of his coat, mother and all. They cried at first, harsh and angry screeches, and drew blood with sharp beaks and claws, but the dark and quiet and warmth soon soothed them. Hannibal forged on through the snow, and eventually Will's farmhouse came into sight. Golden light poured from his windows onto the white snow, and smoke beckoned from the chimney.

Will opened the door as Hannibal staggered up. He looked on, disinterested, as Hannibal opened the coat and showed him the eagle and her hatchlings.

"This isn't the time for babies," Will said. "Something's wrong."

"I know," said Hannibal. "You need to help me. We need to keep them warm."

Will studied the eagle. He studied Hannibal.

Hannibal woke up.

He lay in bed for a few moments, blinking. He was not used to dreaming, or rather, having dreams that he remembered. When he had been younger, yes, many dark and tangled dreams, streaked with vermilion and riddled with wintry tree boughs. But that had been a long time ago.

Hannibal swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He pulled on his pajama pants, his long-sleeved shirt, and found the dressing gown in the closet. It was a thin and flimsy thing, like the sort one found in hotel rooms, but it would do. With that and house slippers he felt sufficiently armed to venture outside his room. Will's door was ajar, and his room was empty. The dogs were mostly asleep, save for the little one, Buster, who watched him with bright eyes as Hannibal crossed the hall and began to mount the stairs.

He found Will on the upper deck, sitting in one of the lounge chairs with his hands folded over his chest like he was laid out for a funeral. His eyes were closed, but he opened them when he heard Hannibal's footsteps sound against the boards.

"Nightmares?" Hannibal asked.

Will gave an eloquent shrug. "You?"

"Unsettling dreams."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Hannibal took the lounge chair next to Will. The heat lamp was on, showering them both with warmth and casting a red-orange glow in a dome around their chairs. "It was just a dream, and nonsensical as far as dreams go." He glanced at Will. "Were you practicing the techniques I told you about?"

"Changing the ending of my dream? Yeah."

Will was different like this, all his edges softened by night and sleep, but far enough removed from his nightmares that he'd lost that sweaty, erratic sharpness. He looked like the man Hannibal imagined him to be when he was alone, with only his dogs and his hands and his hobbies.

"Is this something that you've tried on yourself?" Will asked. "Changing the endings of your nightmares?"

Hannibal pursed his lips in thought. "No," he said. "When I was a child and had unhappy dreams, it was not a resource that was available to me. And by the time I learned this technique, I was already an adult, and the nightmares were behind me."

"But you had one tonight," said Will. "Or was it just an unsettling dream?"

Hannibal turned his head to look at Will. Will was not looking at him. His eyes were half-lidded, his eyelashes casting spiked shadows against his cheeks. His t-shirt was streaked gray with sweat.

"The nightmares of children are uncomplicated," said Hannibal. "Monsters under the bed, becoming lost, being kidnapped by pirates. Children wake from them screaming and crying. But the dreams of adults are more complicated. When an adult wakes from a dream about making a mistake at work, or an unhappy memory, do we call that a nightmare?"

"I never had the kinds of nightmares you're talking about, not even as a kid," Will murmured.

"Your monsters have always been literal."

Will breathed out hard through his nose. "Yeah." He drummed his fingers against his armrest, once. He turned his head just slightly in Hannibal's direction. "What about you?"

"The same," Hannibal said. "Neither of us have had the luxury of uncomplicated nightmares, not even as children."

Will huffed out a chuckle. "What a terrible thing to have in common."

They sat there in silence awhile. Hannibal thought about the fierce golden eyes of the eagle mother, and her three gray-fluffed babies, born at the wrong time of year. It was fortunate for them that they had not been real.

"Do you want to change the ending to the dream you had tonight?" Will asked. "The unsettling one."

Hannibal tilted his head upward, at the stars that he could just barely see between the slats of the deck roof. "No," he decided. "No, I don't."

\-----

He rose late the next morning, on account of his interrupted sleep. Will was already up, judging from the crunching sounds on the patio. Hannibal pulled on his pajama pants but did not bother with anything else as he padded upstairs to start the coffee. He cut two generous slices of bread and placed them in the warm oven to crisp as he beat together an egg and a splash of milk. He added vanilla, cinnamon, sugar, nutmeg. The spice rack _was_ well stocked.

"Good morning," Will said. "What's for breakfast? Oatmeal again?"

"Pain perdu," Hannibal said absently. "And bacon, I think. Leftover frittata for lunch, perhaps in sandwiches."

"You're thinking about lunch already? We haven't even had breakfast." Will plunged the French press and poured them both cups of coffee.

"It helps to plan the day, so you know which are fixed points and which are not." Hannibal sipped his coffee. It was good; Will had not poured it too early.

"And meals are fixed points for you."

"Of course."

Will nodded. "And anything else?"

"Nothing else whatsoever." Hannibal retrieved a skillet for the bacon. "The day is yours to spend as you see fit. I only ask that you let me know if you're not going to make it back for any of the meals, so that I don't prepare too much food."

Will leaned against the counter. "I read in one of the guidebooks that there's a lot of hiking around here. I thought I might go for a hike with the dogs."

"I think they would enjoy that. I can pack you your sandwich; it will be a good lunch." Hannibal lay four strips of bacon into the pan and turned on the oven fan.

"I can pack my own sandwich, thanks." Will gave Hannibal a wry smile over his coffee. "Do you want to come?"

"Not if you desire solitude."

"I'm not offering just to be polite," Will said. "But I understand if it's not your thing. Do you even own hiking boots?"

"I believe there's a pair in storage here." Hannibal turned the bacon. "It seems like a pleasant enough way to spend the morning. I have no other plans. If you truly don't mind the company, it would be my privilege to join you."

"Great," Will said. "Now, is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

"You may get the bread out of the oven and dredge it in the milk and eggs." Hannibal put another skillet on the stove; this one he melted a tablespoon of butter into. "And then you may make the toast."

\-----

It was a short drive to the trailhead, silent save for the dogs whining and panting in anticipation in the back. A few other cars were parked in the lot, but not as many as there would have been a month or two ago. They would have much of the trail to themselves, most likely, which was just as well because none of Will's dogs would be on leash, which was against the regulations.

The trail was not paved, but it was mostly flat, with no boulders or fallen trees to clamber over. The dogs ranged back and forth, sometimes dashing up ahead to wrestle over a particularly delectable stick, other times falling behind to sniff at the base of trees and shrubs. Will walked slowly; he looked relaxed, but Hannibal could tell that he knew where his dogs were at all times.

"I can't believe you're dressed like a normal person," Will said, glancing at Hannibal. "Almost."

Hannibal had unearthed not only a pair of hiking boots but a pair of hiking pants: durable lightweight nylon with capacious pockets and articulated knees. "It's practical."

"So you do lower yourself to the situation sometimes?" Will looked away, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. It looked awkward, which was how Hannibal knew that it was genuine.

"I don't think it's lowering myself to be pragmatic."

They came to a small footbridge, just planks laid across a creek. Their footsteps rang hollow on it. The dogs simply bolted through the water, sending up white spray in their wake.

"I don't really know what people talk about," Will said. "When they're walking around like this."

"Whatever you want to talk about," said Hannibal. "The weather. Movies. Food. Your dogs."

Will snorted. "You don't want to hear about my dogs."

"Perhaps I do," Hannibal said. "They're important to you, and you are my friend, and that makes them important to me. I've fed them, so I think of them as my friends as well."

"So you think of everyone you've fed as your friend?"

"I invite only my friends over to be fed."

Will squinted up at the sky through the branches. It was sunny but not too warm, but the trail was heavily wooded: red maples, black gum, and many trees that Hannibal did not know the names of. At one point they passed by a thick bed of ferns. Chester bounded into them, and Will whistled him away, and none of the other dogs disturbed them.

"Your dogs are very well trained," said Hannibal.

"They have to be, if I'm going to have seven of them," said Will.

"Tell me about them," Hannibal said.

So Will did. Of his current pack, Mal, the little beige one with the underbite, was the one he'd had the longest: two years. He'd found her as a puppy in a box in a parking lot, relatively well cared for, but now abandoned. Next had been Buffy, who'd been found by one of his students. Then Harvard, whom Will had found in his backyard; after that Chester, bought off a neighbor who'd been keeping the poor thing chained up in the yard with hardly any food or water. Buster had been found by the bait and tackle store; Clay had had nowhere to go after her owner received a grim cancer diagnosis; and finally, Winston, found by the side of the road.

"Buster and Clay will probably find other homes eventually," Will said. "They're good dogs, cute dogs. The rest of them, not so much, so they'll stay with me."

"You don't grow attached to them, then?"

"Of course I do." Winston came running up to Will, bearing a green and red leaf in his mouth. Will accepted the leaf and put it in his pocket. He rubbed the top of Winston's head and the dog bounded away with his tail high, tongue lolling. "They're good dogs, all of them. But there'll always be more."

They walked in silence for a little while, leaves crunching underfoot. A pair of women passed them going the opposite direction, dressed in leggings and polar fleeces, their long hair done up in ponytails. They smiled and made eye contact and Hannibal smiled back. Will avoided their gazes and looked at his dogs instead.

"Did you ever have any pets?" Will asked, when the women were a safe distance away.

"When I was very, very young," said Hannibal. "Not since then. My life was too turbulent for a time, and now I find that I like my routine the way it is, without the concern or responsibility of another life to upset it."

Will tucked his hands into his pockets. "You don't get lonely?"

"Do you feel lonely, when you go fishing by yourself?" Hannibal asked. "Would you have felt lonely, if you'd come on this hike with only your dogs?"

"No."

"People who are frequently alone learn to be so without being lonely." 

They crossed another creek. This time a few of the dogs stopped to drink from it.

"You called it freedom, yesterday," Will said.

"And so it is. I also said that it was not without loneliness." A bird chastised them from above. Hannibal craned his neck upward but could not make it out. "It is unavoidable; we are social creatures. But I have been susceptible to the feeling less, perhaps, than many other men in a similar position. It's difficult to quantify, of course; I have no frame of reference."

"Yeah." Will took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. "I never thought of myself as lonely, either. Until recently."

"Until you started field work again. Working for Jack."

Will nodded, looking down at the ground. He kicked a rock ahead of them, making Harvard jump.

"It made it clear to you how unique you are," Hannibal said. "How alone in your mind."

"No psychoanalysis," Will said, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Merely an observation," Hannibal said. "Am I wrong?"

"No." Will shook his head. He looked up and squinted through the branches. The sun was high overhead, but here in the dappled shade, it was cool. "No, you're not wrong."

They stopped for lunch at the end of the trail, high on a bluff overlooking the sea. The wind here was fierce but felt good against their hot, tired bodies. The dogs lapped water from Will's cupped hands over and over again until they'd depleted one of the waterbottles and then went off to frolic in the grass. Hannibal unwrapped their sandwiches and handed one to Will. The sandwiches were good after the long walk. They sat on rocks and ate in quiet enjoyment with the wind and the salt smell of the sea. There was a lighthouse to the north along the coast. Will said they could go take a look at that, maybe, although dogs weren't allowed inside.

"All of us are alone in our minds though," Will said. He'd finished his sandwich and was letting the dogs nose through the wax paper. "Nobody can truly see into the mind of another."

"Except for you."

"Except for me."

"And so while I, for example, may feel less alone in my mind because I know that you can be with me, there is no one who can do the same for you," Hannibal said. He had finished his own sandwich and was now folding the wax paper into a triangle, then into a smaller one. There was more that he wished to say, but now was not the time for it.

Will did not reply right away. Hannibal did not blame him. He tucked the wax triangle into his pocket and laced his fingers together upon his knee. They squinted out at the sea together. 

"But why are you so alone?" Will asked at last. "I mean, I have an excuse. Too broken, too unsociable, too many dogs. But you, you've got your life together, you've got money, you're a great cook." He looked down and rubbed his hands together. "Sorry, that's too personal."

"Not at all." One of the dogs came over to sniff at Hannibal's pockets. Hannibal pushed him away. "It's merely fate or circumstance, whatever you'd like to call it. The opportunity has simply never arisen. There has been no one I've cared to let into my mind."

"Or no one who's been able to force their way in."

Hannibal gave Will a sharp look. Will did not return it. His eyes were distant but sharp; Hannibal could almost see the gears turning.

"It's a habit, that's all," Will said. "It's like always buying the same brand of toothpaste or always putting your car keys in your right pocket instead of your left. When you have an afternoon to yourself, you don't think, oh, I'll pick up the phone and call a friend to see if they want to come over, go to a movie, do something. Instead you compose some music or read a book or try a new recipe because that's what you've always done. Something hasn't come along to jostle that habit. Not yet." 

Hannibal had to take a moment before he could reply. "Surely the moratorium on psychoanalysis applies to you as well as me."

"That's not psychoanalysis," Will said. "That's empathy."

\-----

They returned to the house in the mid-afternoon. Hannibal's clean-boned weariness was reminiscent of when the basement tables had been hosed down and the meat put away. After those times he liked to have a long shower, or sometimes even a bath, with Chopin or Bach in the background. He decided to do just that, while Will hosed down the dogs in the outdoor shower and towel-dried them on the deck. There was no music player in the bathroom, however, so Hannibal made do with the music in his head.

The house was quiet when he emerged, and Will's door was slightly ajar. Hannibal could just make out Will sprawled atop the bed, facedown, half the dogs on the bed with him and the other half on the floor. Mal was snoring.

Hannibal went upstairs. He sat at the piano, hands on his thighs, and looked at the half-filled staff paper. That half-glimpsed image of Will, arms and legs flung wide atop the bed, surrounded by his mutts, rose in his mind. After a minute, he got up and went to the kitchen. He chopped the swiss chard, garlic, and half an onion. He rubbed the steaks with salt and put them back in the fridge. He salted a pot of water and set it on the stove, but did not boil it. Instead, he went into the living room and selected Jorge Luis Borge's _Ficciones_. He took it out onto the upper deck and settled in to read.

He must have drifted off, because he opened his eyes with the sudden awareness that he was not alone. Will was on the deck with him, preheating the grill.

"Sorry," he said, when Hannibal let the book fall off his chest and onto the floor. "It looked like you were getting ready to make dinner."

"I was waiting until you were awake," said Hannibal. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, just totally conked out. Do you need help with anything?"

"The potatoes still need to be peeled and cut up."

Will followed him into the kitchen. "Steak, greens, and mashed potatoes?"

"Or roasted." Hannibal paused by the bowl of potatoes. "Do you have a preference?"

"My aunt used to mash them with the skins on." Will picked up one of the potatoes. "She said they were healthier that way."

"Do you like them that way?"

Will shrugged.

Hannibal boiled the water and didn't peel the potatoes, dropping them into the hot water in quarters, with their yellow skins still on. He caramelized the onions before adding the garlic and the chard. By then, the grill was ready, and Hannibal sent Will out to the deck with the steaks, with the instruction to make his "very rare." He mashed the potatoes with plenty of butter and some half and half.

They ate in the dining room that night: easier to manipulate steak knives and forks. Hannibal's steak was perfectly seared and almost bloody in the middle. "My compliments to the chef," he said.

Will gave Hannibal a wry smile. "It's not that hard."

"On the contrary; a _good_ steak is very difficult indeed." Hannibal cut off another bite of steak. "You never told me about this aunt."

"My dad and I stayed with her for a little while. Her husband--my uncle--was my dad's brother. I was pretty young; in retrospect my dad must have been pretty down on his luck, to go to family. It was probably the longest I ever stayed in one place, and they had a vegetable garden, so I got to have fresh vegetables. I didn't want to leave."

"Did you ask your father if you could stay?"

"I did, but he insisted that I had to come with him. I don't know why; it couldn't have been fun for him, dragging a little kid everywhere, trying to make enough money for the both of us. And when I got older, I got rebellious."

"It could have been pride." Hannibal picked up a forkful of mashed potatoes. "Or perhaps he would have been lonely."

Will picked up a bite of steak and put it in his mouth. He spent a while chewing it.

"You were never alone, when you were young," Hannibal said. "Always with your father, living in each other's pockets, sleeping in the same room. When you grew up, you cherished the privacy you'd never had. Now you're also in the habit of being alone."

"No psychoanalysis," Will reminded him.

"I think we're doing quite well on this vacation, for two men who are accustomed to solitude," Hannibal said. "Don't you?"


	4. Tuesday

Will got out of the car but did not close the door just yet. He bent to peer in at Hannibal. "Thanks for looking after the dogs."

Hannibal kept his hands on the steering wheel. "It's no trouble. I've fed and walked them for you before."

"Yeah, well," said Will. "Still. I hope they don't disturb you too much."

"They won't."

Will shut the passengers side door and waved goodbye. Hannibal raised a hand and pulled out of the parking lot.

He drove past the house and back to the farmers market, where he purchased more eggs, fennel, tomatoes, lettuce, cabbage, and more ground beef. He stopped by the IGA on the way back for buttermilk, chicken stock, yogurt, and a few other staples. All told, these errands took less than an hour. With Will, they had taken two. Will was a browser, at least at the farmers market; he liked to visit each stall, try all the samples, puzzle over unfamiliar produce. At the IGA, with its more limited selection and his own goals in mind, Will had been more targeted. That was more Hannibal's way.

The dogs greeted Hannibal at the door with wagging tails and a great deal of polite confusion. They looked behind him, trotted out a ways to look up and down the road, and sniffed at the deck. When Will did not appear, they followed Hannibal back inside, and he was able to shut the door and put away the groceries. Afterward, he went out onto the upper balcony and stood there with his hands on the railing, taking deep breaths of the clean, salty air. 

Will had not asked Hannibal to come fishing, though whether that was because he desired solitude or because he thought Hannibal would not care for fishing, Hannibal didn't know. He suspected that Will needed some time alone, and so did he; they had spent the past two days in constant company, despite assertions that they would stay out of each other's way.

What should he do? He had nearly an entire day before he needed to pick Will up at the marina.

He could go to New York City and find himself some abominably rude prey. He had a kill house upstate where he could dismember and store the body and retrieve it at his leisure. He could bring back a fresh piece of meat and tell Will it was tenderloin, purchased from the farmers market. And if the police did their jobs, why, lo and behold: the car was Will's!

Or he could go to New York City and simply spend the day there. He could do some early holiday shopping, stop in at Bergdorf Goodman, have a stroll through Central Park, perhaps call on an old acquaintance from medical school.

Or he could stay here and enjoy having the house to himself. He could swim and compose and draw to his heart's content; he could watch television or read a book; he could go for a hike or a run.

But he could do any of those things in Baltimore.

Something cold pressed into Hannibal's hand. He looked down and saw Winston, who gave his tail a feeble flick. Hannibal ruffled the dog's ears and went downstairs. The other dogs lay around the house in various states of repose, looking as bored as Hannibal felt. Hannibal opened the door. "Come," he said. Winston trotted out first, and the other dogs came soon after. Hannibal took them down to the beach.

Once arrived, the dogs seemed to know what to do. They barked and bit at the crashing waves; chased each other up and down the shore; sniffed at various detritus washed up on the sand; snapped at and wrestled one another. Hannibal found a stick and threw it, and just as they had their first night there, the dogs chased after it. He threw the stick again and again, until his arm was tired and he was bored, and turned for the house. The dogs followed, tongues lolling.

Hannibal hosed the dogs off at the outdoor shower, and his own feet. They trotted out and shook themselves, and Hannibal had only to wipe their paws before letting them inside, where they filled the house with the odor of seawater and damp dog. Hannibal had a hot shower himself. By then, he was quite hungry for lunch. 

Will had refused Hannibal's offer of a packed lunch for his fishing trip, and insisted on stopping at one of the many small delis that peppered the Hamptons for some sandwiches to go. Hannibal had purchased one for himself, out of curiosity. The bread was soggy and tasteless; the mustard sharp and one-dimensional; the lettuce not even worth the word. The pastrami itself was unobjectionable. Hannibal ate two bites before feeding the rest of the sandwich to the dogs. He had some yogurt, some fruit, and a slice of toast instead.

Afterward, he spent some time at the piano, where he made significant progress on his composition. He had some idea, now, that it would be a fifteen minute piece, and set out to make the music arc accordingly. When he felt that any more time spent on the work would be detrimental, he went back down to the study and spent a while drawing, this time of the view of Will's farmhouse from the driveway. He left it very rough and unfinished, so that he would have something to work on later, when the opportunity presented itself. Then he went for a swim in the pool on the upper deck; it was a very small pool, and so his laps were very short, and quickly became boring. He stopped after twenty-five laps, showered, and took the dogs for a walk around the grounds.

At five o'clock, he locked the doors and drove to the marina, where he waited for ten minutes before spying Will, carrying what was evidently a full cooler, judging from the tension of his shoulders. His hair was messy from wind, and he smelled of sea spray and sweat.

"That was _amazing_ ," Will crowed as he dropped the cooler in the back. "Bass, flounder, bluefish...we definitely won't have to worry about food, that is, if you don't mind eating fish for the rest of the week."

"Not at all. I'm glad you had a good time."

Will flopped down into the passenger seat. "How was your day?"

"A little tedious," Hannibal admitted as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Your dogs' conversation is lacking, and they have no appreciation whatsoever for my various talents."

Will laughed. Hannibal's mouth twitched. "You were bored," Will said.

"A little. But your dogs will be happy to see you."

"What about you?" Will asked.

"I'm happy to see you as well," Hannibal replied.

"Yeah?" Will smiled; it was genuine, and it took years off his face. "Me too."

\-----

Will cleaned the fish--and the cooler was heaped with fish--one after the other, out on the lower deck, with the dogs shut up inside so that they couldn't bother him. They pressed up against the window and whined, confused as to why they were separated from their master, and perhaps able to smell the bloody, fishy guts that grew in a pile next to him on the patio. Afterward, he put the fish back in the cooler and brought them upstairs for Hannibal, his hands still streaked with blood and scales. The dogs followed with their noses upturned, bodies wriggling with hope, but Will sent them back downstairs with a sharp word and a hiss. Hannibal filleted two of the fish for dinner and stored the rest in the refrigerator, wrapped in wax paper.

"Fish fry?" Will asked, washing his hands at the sink. Hannibal had arranged cornmeal, flour, and spices on the counter, and was currently shredding a head of cabbage.

"I believe that's traditional," Hannibal said with a smile. "Do you have any objections?"

"Hell no. I'm gonna go feed the dogs, otherwise they're gonna give us grief all through dinner."

Hannibal shredded half the cabbage, and half an onion. He was grating a carrot by the time Will reappeared, showered, water still beading on the curls at the back of his neck.

"Anything I can help with?" Will asked.

"You can finish putting together the cole slaw," Hannibal replied. "Unless you'd like to fry the fish."

"I can fry the fish." Will put a skillet of oil on the stove to heat. He shook cornmeal and flour into a bowl, flung spices in after them, and mixed it with his fingers. Hannibal sliced the fillets in half for him, and Will coated them generously on both sides.

"There's buttermilk, if you wish to make hush puppies," Hannibal said, tossing the vegetables in salt and sugar.

Will gave Hannibal a startled look. He didn't say anything at first, but he did set the coated fillets aside on a plate. "You'll need to chop an onion, then."

Hannibal minced the remaining half an onion while Will consulted the back of the cornmeal bag for a recipe. He added baking soda, the buttermilk, cracked in an egg, and used a fork to stir them together with the onion. He didn't use a spoon, but just dug his fingers straight into it and tossed a ball into the oil. It splattered and hissed, and Will dropped in two more balls of batter. Hannibal rinsed the vegetables and sent them through a salad spinner. He combined ingredients for dressing and tossed the slaw.

By the time the slaw was ready, Will had a plate of hush puppies draining on a paper towel and was frying the fish. He slid the catfish, still sizzling, onto their plates, upon which Hannibal had already deposited a generous scoop of slaw. Will added a handful of hush puppies each and washed his hands while Hannibal carried their plates out to the lawn. The dogs pranced after them, licking their lips at first but forgetting the food in favor of wrestling and gamboling on the grass.

"This slaw is pretty good," Will told him. "You figured a Southern theme for the evening, huh?"

"Foods that match in a certain way do so for a reason," Hannibal said. "Collard greens would also have been acceptable."

Will wrinkled his nose. "I prefer slaw."

Hannibal ate his hush puppies and observed Will out of the corner of his eyes. Will had come back from the fishing trip standing up straighter, his gaze brighter. Time out on the water, hooking and reeling in his catches, without the eyes and expectations of others on him, had unwound the tension from his skin and the wariness around his eyes.

"Are you still having headaches?" Hannibal asked.

Will nodded. "I'm almost out of aspirin," he said. "Took almost all of it on the boat. So much for fresh air doing me some good."

Hannibal used his fork to break open one of his fish fillets, sending up a gust of steam. "Any more nightmares last night?"

"When am I not having nightmares? But yes, I used the technique you taught me, not that it's made any difference."

"Persistence is the key. Results will be gradual, but there will be results." Hannibal finished his slaw as he waited for the fish to cool. Will did not show such restraint and clearly burned the roof of his mouth, but he continued to eat with determination and every evidence of enjoyment. "My compliments to the chef once again."

Will's shoulder jerked. "I fish a lot. If there's one thing I know how to cook, it's fish."

"That's good, because we have quite a bit of it here. We won't be frying it every day, I hope." Hannibal bit into one of his fillets. The coating was crisp and well-seasoned, the fish itself flaky and tender and mild. It was delicious. Hannibal took a second bite with delight.

"Nope. I can also grill it, or roast it." Will looked up at Hannibal over his plate. "What do you do with fish?"

"It depends on the fish and on my mood." Hannibal started on his second fillet. "I can make sashimi, poached, grilled, baked, pan-fried, cured, however you like."

"How do _you_ like it?" Will asked.

"Fresh," Hannibal replied.

\-----

"Goddammit. Fuck. Shit."

Hannibal did not look up from his sketch of Will's farmhouse. "What's the matter?"

Will came upstairs, his jaw clenched. "I can't find my aspirin. Shit, I think I left it on the boat." He strode around the living area, checking drawers and cabinets, though there was of course no way that Will's aspirin--usually in his jacket pocket--had wandered into the drawer of a living room end table.

Hannibal had taken Will's aspirin earlier and hidden it in his own room. There had been only four pills left in the bottle. "Do you have a headache? I may have something."

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks. My head's killing me."

Hannibal retrieved two Benadryls, anonymous white tablets outside of their packaging. Will swallowed them dry, sighed, and sat down next to Hannibal on the couch. "Do you mind if I watch some TV?"

"Not at all."

Reality television show about gossiping, hatchet-faced women; reality television show about people who were supposed to believe they had survived a post-apocalyptic scenario; reality television show exploiting the misfortunes of lower middle class whites; crime procedural featuring a team of behaviorists; a different crime procedural featuring a team of forensic technicians; yet another crime procedural featuring an odd couple partnership of two women. Hannibal did not look up. He expected the sound to annoy him, and he had been prepared to retire to the study to finish his drawing. But Will was moving through the channels so quickly that it was all incomprehensible signal and noise, not dissimilar to some avant-garde post-music. Hannibal shaded the storm-dark bellies of the clouds.

Twenty minutes later, Will yawned and said, "I can't keep my eyes open. I'm gonna go to bed early."

"You've had a long day," Hannibal replied, without looking up from his drawing. "Does your head still hurt?"

"Yeah, but it's not too bad. I think I can sleep."

Hannibal heard the television switch off and felt Will leave the room. The front door opened and closed, with the patter of dog claws on the floor in between; of course Will would not go to bed early without making sure the dogs were able to relieve themselves first. Hannibal smiled to himself and set the drawing aside.

\-----

Hannibal startled awake. He had left his door ajar and the dogs were restless, whining faintly and pacing. Chester came into the room and stared up at him with large, beseeching eyes. Hannibal pushed the dog aside and stepped out into the hall. Will's door was wide open, and his bed was rumpled but empty. He counted the dogs; Winston was not with them. Hannibal fetched a flashlight and, upon some reflection, one of Will's jackets.

The back door was shut but not locked. As soon as Hannibal opened it, the dogs leapt out onto the grass ahead of him. Buster raced forward, but the others paused every now and then to dip their noses to the ground and look back at Hannibal. Hannibal took his time, the flashlight beam bouncing yellow-white before him. The lawn had been recently watered and squished underfoot, leaving wet on Hannibal's bare soles. 

They found Will perhaps five hundred feet from the house, in a neighbor's yard. Will was still walking, his bare toes dragging through the grass. His mouth was slack and slightly open, his lids half-shuttered. Winston was close at his heels, pushing his nose into Will's limp hand every now and again. Hannibal touched Will on the shoulder, first gently, then gripped him by the shoulder and shook. Will sucked in a gasp and opened his eyes all the way. He shook his head, trembled all over, and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. "What the--where--"

"You were sleepwalking," Hannibal murmured. He draped the jacket over Will's shoulders. "Come, let's get you back to the house."

Will drew the jacket close around him but didn't try to put his arms through the sleeves. He was in his undershirt and boxers, and gooseflesh showed on his legs. His shirt was soaked with sweat and must have been cold and uncomfortable. "Jesus," he said. He still shook. He smelled of sour sweat and sweet feverish illness.

It was a long, cold, and quiet walk back to the house. Will kept his hand on Winston's head. The other dogs seemed to think they were on a walk and sometimes ran ahead or fell behind, just as they usually did. Will did not whistle them back, but the pack made it intact back to the house. The dogs tracked watery pawprints inside, but Will did not scold them, and neither did Hannibal. They wiped their feet against the rough mat before stepping inside.

"At least my feet don't hurt," Will mumbled. "Not like the other times."

Hannibal took Will's jacket. "You'll feel better after a hot shower."

Will nodded and shuffled into the bathroom. Hannibal left Will to his own devices and went upstairs. By the time Will arrived in the kitchen, smelling of shampoo, damp with dark circles beneath his eyes, Hannibal had a steaming cup of coffee waiting on the counter for him. Will slid onto one of the stools at the breakfast island and drew the mug toward himself. He curled his hands around the mug but did not take a sip.

"Shit," Will said. "I just." He fisted his hand in his hair and bowed his head. "It was such a good day. I felt, I felt _normal_. It was a _normal day_."

"Don't focus on that." Hannibal put four slices of bread in the toaster. "Focus on what you can do in the here and now."

Will didn't say anything. Hannibal leaned against the counter and did not pressure Will with the weight of his gaze. When the toast popped up, an even golden brown on all sides, Hannibal drizzled them with clover honey and dusted them with cinnamon and powdered sugar; the air took on a warm and comforting smell. He took a seat on the stool next to Will and slid one of the plates toward his friend. That seemed to rouse Will, who picked up one of the slices and crunched into it, dribbling a shower of crumbs onto his plate. He took a mouthful of his now surely cold coffee.

"Would you like more coffee?" Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head. "Thanks for the toast," he said.

"There's little that soothes and comforts the mind more than sugar and simple carbohydrates," Hannibal said. "It was something my mother would make for me when I was very young, when I woke from nightmares."

"It's hard to imagine you as a child."

"You think I sprang forth fully grown, in a three piece suit and a medical degree?" Hannibal smiled. Will smiled back, tentatively. "We were all children once."

Will's gaze went dark and withdrawn, and he finished the last bit of his toast without speaking, licking crumbs and sugar from his lips. Hannibal knew that he was thinking about Abigail, and he was affirmed when Will said, "Abigail has nightmares too."

"Of course she does." Hannibal chewed and swallowed his final bite of toast. "Anyone would, after what she's been through." He rose to put the kettle on again.

"You'll teach her too, right?" Will said. "To change the endings of her nightmares."

"If she asks," said Hannibal. "She has not confided in me about the content of her dreams. Has she done so with you?"

"No," said Will. "But I. I know." He looked away. His cup and his plate were both empty; without something to occupy them, his fingers twitched and fluttered.

Hannibal cleared away their empty plates, rinsed them of their dark brown crumbs, and stacked them in the dishwasher. "You believe the contents of her dreams are the same as yours."

"I know it," Will said in nearly a whisper.

When Hannibal turned around, Will was gazing out the window with his chin propped up on one hand. He looked the very picture of a Romantic hero, with his dark curls and the downward cast to his lips. "What do you envision, for Abigail's future?" Hannibal asked.

"God, I don't know." Will turned his gaze to the counter. "Something normal, I hope. College. Friends. A boyfriend. Put this all behind her."

Hannibal leaned against the counter, by the burbling kettle. "You project your own desires onto her."

Will shook his head. "I think I've given up on being normal." He scratched his fingernails against the counter. "You know, I just...sometimes I just want a normal life, wife and kids and picket fence...more than just one dog, I guess." He glanced down. "And then I wake up in the middle of the night having sweated right through the sheets and trip over a dog on the way to the bathroom, and I look around my house and I realize, shit, I'm a mess, and who's going to want any part of this? Normal's never gonna be for me." He sighed and picked up his cup of coffee, and frowned when he realized that it was empty.

"I would question your definition of 'normal.'" Hannibal dumped the grounds from the French press and measured out more. "Normal is a construction, just like currency, notions of masculinity and femininity, and our idolatry of the nuclear family, and it differs from culture to culture and person to person. What is normal in Bulgaria is not normal here, and what is normal here is hardly the norm in Chile." He poured more hot water into the press. "And what is normal for you is not normal for me. I would urge you to focus on what is normal _for you_ and work from there."

"But I don't want it to be normal for me," Will growled down into his empty coffee cup. "I just want to be a guy who doesn't have nightmares, who can look people in the eye, who can have--relationships."

"You have relationships." Hannibal cut up some of the apples from the farmers market. "You have a relationship with me, with Alana Bloom, with Jack Crawford, your coworkers at the BAU. Unless you are referring solely to romance," he added.

"That would be nice, yeah."

Hannibal added the diced apple to a saucepan on the stove with a drizzle of honey, some cinnamon, and some nutmeg. A sweet, spicy smell rose up into the air, reminiscent of apple pie and autumn. Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw Will's posture soften. His shoulders were still hunched and he was still haunted by the shadows under his eyes, but there was less tension around his mouth and eyes.

"What're you doing?" Will asked.

"Just making a little apple spice topping to go with our granola and yogurt. I think we'll take our breakfast out on the balcony. The sun will be rising soon."

Will turned his gaze to the fading stars. "We just had toast."

"The toast was for midnight comfort. This is for breakfast. Will you plunge the coffee?"

Will plunged the coffee and poured it. "So this is normal for you, huh? Finding your sleepwalking friend, making him coffee and toast in the middle of the night, and then watching the sun rise with him?"

"It's not typical, no." Hannibal went back to stirring the apple-honey concoction. "But if I were given the opportunity to repeat the experience, I would not say no. I enjoy spending time with you," here he made eye contact with Will, who quickly looked away, "as you are, not this hypothetical Will Graham who never has nightmares and makes eye contact with everyone he meets. He sounds very dull, actually."

Will gave a rough bark of laughter. "Dull? Really?"

"There would be nothing unique to such a man." Hannibal turned off the heat. He fetched the yogurt out of the refrigerator and scooped equal amounts into two small bowls, dusted it with granola, and topped it with the still-warm apple compote. "He would never have caught my eye. But you are extraordinary, and I am pleased and honored to have the privilege of your company."

They took their bowls and coffees out to the balcony, where they sat and watched the stars go out and the horizon turn pale and pink. Flame-colored tongues lashed across the sky and painted the ocean with blood and rubies, and little by little, the sun pushed itself up beyond the water. Will scraped the sides of his bowl with his spoon and set the empty vessel on the little table between them. He cradled his coffee mug in his hands.

"Thanks," he said. "You know, I don't even know why you think of me as a friend. And the past few days haven't really, they haven't felt real. The house, the dogs, the fishing. But I'm grateful for it, anyway. That you think we're friends." He buried his face in his coffee.

Hannibal did not look at Will. He looked at the scarlet water, the sun casting its light into the world for yet another day. "Aren't we?"

Will took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we are."

Hannibal sipped his coffee. The sky was turning blue. Everything was fresh, and new, and beautiful.


	5. Wednesday

Fall descended on the Hamptons with incredible rapidity. Three days ago it had seemed like waning summer, the last of the season's tomatoes and lettuce still at the farmers market. Today it was truly on its way to winter, a crispness in the air that begged for scarves and upturned collars.

Now that it was properly daylight, they were walking the dogs, this time along the side of the road. Will was afraid they'd grow bored of the beach. There were not many cars, but Will made sure they kept on the grass. Hannibal was not thinking about anything in particular. His eyes were tired and his mind cluttered with fog and cobwebs.

"How'd you find me, anyway?" Will asked.

"The dogs found you," Hannibal said. "They seemed very aware of where you were. It's a shame you so diligently closed the door behind you, or they would probably have woken you up before you got very far."

"Winston tried." At the sound of his name, Winston stopped and looked back at them. When Will gave him no further sign, the dog bounded off, his feathery tail held high.

"I'm sure he tried his best," Hannibal said.

"I'm sorry that I'm causing trouble for you," Will said. He had his hands in his pockets and kept his eyes on the ground. "You didn't get much sleep last night."

"No less than you," said Hannibal. "I'm glad of it, however; I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn't found you where and when I had. You might have walked off a bluff, or straight into the ocean."

"Cops would've found me eventually," Will mumbled. He knuckled his eyes. The corners of his mouth had an unhappy cast. "I wish I knew what was happening to me. I don't like not knowing what's going on in my own head."

"Do you want my professional opinion?" Hannibal asked.

"No." Will looked out across the grassy knolls rather than in Hannibal's direction, which had the better view of the ocean.

"If you knew the truth, you might be compelled to do something about it," Hannibal suggested. "So you'd prefer not to know."

"I know who I am," Will replied. "I've always known. That's, that's the one thing I've always been able to hold onto."

"And who are you?" Hannibal wanted to know.

Will straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. He put his hands in his pockets. "I'm Will Graham, son of William Graham Sr. I work for the FBI. I'm from the South. I like to fish, I like dogs, and I like working with my hands."

"And you like putting the bad guys away."

After a very slight pause, Will nodded. "And I like putting bad guys away."

They walked for a little while in silence. Dogs dashed on ahead, looked back, and waited for them to catch up before dashing on ahead some more.

"This 'you' that you describe," said Hannibal. "He sounds normal."

"I know you think it's a construction," Will said, "but it's an important construction, for some of us. We want to fit in."

"I am not contesting that." Hannibal clasped his hands behind his back. "Social inclusion is important for mental health. We hunger for connection; we want to feel part of a community, a family. You have said yourself that it is a concept from which you feel isolated."

"I do," Will said. He glanced at Hannibal. "Don't you?"

"I have," said Hannibal. "But feeling isolated from a concept does not mean that it is a foregone conclusion. I believe that I am the master of my own destiny, regardless of what happened to me in the past. I can form a new family of my own choosing, if or when I so desire. And so can you."

Will squinted into the sunlight. "You're really bad at this 'no psychoanalysis' thing."

Hannibal looked at the ground, but he did not attempt to stop his lips from curling up. "My apologies."

"You really need to learn how to take a vacation." Will whistled for his dogs. "C'mon guys! Let's go home. I could use a nap."

\-----

Hannibal woke from his nap feeling disoriented and irritable. He had slept well past lunch, but he was not hungry: the sleep had interrupted his biorhythms. The hunger would come in an hour or two, well before dinner. Irregular mealtimes chafed him. He climbed out of bed, splashed water on his face, dressed, and went to see what Will and the dogs were doing.

Will was not in his room, though the rumpled bedclothes and the smell of recent sweat told Hannibal that Will had recently been there. Hannibal left the aspirin bottle in Will's bed and looked for him upstairs.

He spotted Will from the balcony: he was out on the grounds, tinkering with the firepit, his dogs frolicking on the lawns around him. Hannibal went downstairs and joined him, the grass cool against his bare feet. Will was also barefooted, though he was wearing his jacket. He was stacking logs.

"If you wanted a fire, there is a fireplace," Hannibal said.

"A _gas_ fireplace," Will said. "Doesn't count. No good for grilling fish, anyway. Or burgers," he added. "I saw you bought more ground beef."

"We don't have to use the beef. It'll freeze well."

"No, I." Will paused, tongue between his teeth, as he made some minute, arcane adjustment to the log stack. He had wedged a ball of paper towels underneath the log pyramid. "I appreciate it. But we'll save it for another day. Fish and burgers don't really go in the same meal."

"If you insist," Hannibal said, smiling. "Do you have some dislike for the grill on the deck?"

"It's fine, it's just, propane's not really the same as cooking over an open flame." Will struck a match and lit the kindling. He used his body to shield the flickering orange flame from the wind; the paper towels blackened and collapsed, but by then the logs had caught fire. The flames leapt and crawled and merged with each other into orange peaks, and Will stepped away from the firepit when they were large enough to sustain themselves. "It'll take a while for this to get hot enough to cook over, if you want to go season the fish," Will said.

"I suppose I shall, since you've a fire going."

"We can keep this fire going for a while if you're not ready to eat yet," Will offered.

"No," Hannibal said. "We missed lunch; we'll be hungry soon enough. How would you like me to season the fish?"

"Whatever you want. Just salt and pepper and some oil is fine too."

Hannibal selected two striped bass and rubbed them both in olive oil, salt, and pepper, running his fingers inside their slick, empty bellies. He chopped the rest of the cabbage finely, tossed that in oil and salt and pepper as well, and brought it out to the lawn in a cast-iron pan with the fish on top, and two slices of bread. Most of the dogs had been keeping well away from the fire, save for a few of the smaller ones who were enjoying its heat, but upon the arrival of the fish they came trotting forward, noses up. The flames in the firepit had begun to die down, ash-rimmed wood glowing red-hot in places. Hannibal smelled smoke and heat and char.

Will held his hand over the grill. "What's in that pan?"

"Cabbage," Hannibal said. "High heat is not of paramount importance." He placed the skillet on the grill.

"Huh," Will said. "Never occurred to me to cook on the grill like this."

"Heat is heat. Shall I fetch us some drinks?" Hannibal asked.

"Sure."

Hannibal brought down the last of the beer for Will and a bottle of sparkling water for himself. Will opened the bottle against the edge of the firepit and took a long swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He held his hand out over the grill again. "Okay, I think it's ready for the fish."

The fish sizzled as soon as it hit the grill, waves of heat making the air around it shimmer. Sweat beaded along Will's hairline and curled the hair at the back of his neck. He'd shed his jacket onto one of the nearby chairs and rolled up his sleeves, revealing well-muscled forearms with prominent veins. Hannibal stirred the cabbage and sipped his water. The cabbage was losing its green, vegetal smell in favor of something sweeter and more sulfurous.

"What inspired this?" Hannibal asked.

Will shrugged. "I woke up and I was just wandering around the house, looking for something to do, and I saw the firepit, and I thought it'd be nice to build a fire outside. Grill the fish, sit outside, you know."

"It's a pity we can't watch the sun set, as well."

"Not unless you have a vacation house in California, too." Will gave him a meaningful look.

"No offers will be forthcoming from this quarter, I'm afraid."

Will flipped the fish with his hands, swift and graceful as a cat. He hissed a little and sucked his fingers afterward. The parts of the fish now facing up had blackened skin drawing away from white, flaky flesh; the fish eyes had sunk, revealing the hard white orb of the iris. "How'd you season them?"

"Just oil and salt and pepper, as you recommended. I believe good fish speaks for itself."

Will nodded. "Me too."

Hannibal stirred the cabbage again. "I'll get us plates," he said. "Please don't let the cabbage burn."

By the time he returned with plates and forks, the fish was ready and Will was toasting the bread. The dogs hovered underneath, licking their lips and wagging their tails, but the fish made it whole onto their plates, along with spoonfuls of cabbage. Hannibal wrapped a towel around the cast iron handle to move the pan onto the table, and they sat down to eat. The dogs sat nearby. Harvard whined.

"No," Will said sharply. The dogs' heads dipped. A few of them lay down. Winston yawned.

The fish sent up white wafts of steam into the air. Hannibal ate his cabbage first, wishing he'd thought to bring down the balsamic vinegar. Will used his hands, breaking his fish into pieces so that it would cool faster, sucking oil and seasonings from his fingers. The fish was good: the skin crispy and smoky, the flesh flaky and tender and succulent. It hadn't needed anything more than oil and salt and pepper and flame.

Dark descended upon them. The dogs lay around the firepit in a rough circle, heads on their paws. Harvard sprawled out on his side and closed his eyes. Hannibal was comfortably full. Will got up and put another log on the fire, and they sat back and watched the flames reach for the moon, which hung fat and heavy and ripe overhead.

"We'll be hungry at midnight, after such an early dinner," Hannibal remarked.

Will's mouth twitched. "Fixed points."

"Evidently not as fixed as I thought." Hannibal stretched his legs out in front of him. "Fixing them is easier when there is not another person within one's orbit."

"If you're expecting me to apologize for screwing up your schedule," said Will, "I'm not. You knew what I was like when you agreed to this."

"I'm merely making an observation," Hannibal said. "I have no right to demand an apology from you, nor do you have any reason to give one."

Will examined his hands. Mal yawned, licked her lips, and shifted. Hannibal breathed in the smell of woodsmoke and thought of snow on pine boughs, long ago fires, and deep, cold hunger. 

"Why did you come looking for me?" Will asked.

Hannibal frowned. "How could I not? You're my friend."

"You could have called the police," Will pointed out.

"There was no need for that. The dogs knew where you were, and you were not not very far away." Hannibal paused. "If Abigail had gone missing, you would have gone to look for her yourself."

"I _am_ law enforcement," Will reminded him.

"But you would not have gone looking for her in your capacity as an officer of the law," Hannibal said. He turned toward Will. Will did not turn toward him. He had his hands curled over the edges of his armrests. "Would you have called me, to come help you in your search?"

Will did not reply. Hannibal had expected it, but he had not expected it to irk him as it did. He wanted Will to call him in the middle of the night and rouse him from slumber to say _Abigail's escaped from Port Haven, help me look for her_ or _I can't sleep_ or _I think there's an animal in my chimney_.

When the silence had come to bear a stretched, translucent quality, Hannibal said, "I mind less than I thought I would that the fixed points of my day have come pulled apart."

Will seemed to rouse himself. "It's not as bad as you thought, huh?"

"As you keep pointing out, I am on vacation," Hannibal said. "Vacations are when we can try new things. Be ourselves. Pursue our passions."

"What are your passions?"

"Cooking. Music. Art."

"You pursue those passions in Baltimore."

"There are always new ones, waiting to be discovered," Hannibal said. "I am coming to realize that I don't know myself as well as I thought I did."

Will stared into space for a little while. Harvard got up, shook himself, and paced around for a few steps until he resettled facing the other direction. Something in the fire snapped, sending up a shower of red sparks. Some of them fell back into the fire, but some of them drifted away on the breeze and disappeared in the darkness.

"Have you thought about breaking the habit?" Will asked. "Of being alone."

"I'm thinking about it now," Hannibal replied.

\-----

The logs burned down and the night crept in around them, reaching down their collars and up their sleeves with cold fingers. Will doused the rest of the fire with sand and allowed the dogs to lick the dirty plates, which Hannibal found disgusting but did not comment on. They were going in the dishwasher, anyhow. He took a long, hot shower with relish.

The hot spray felt good against Hannibal's skin, and he spent longer than usual massaging shampoo through his hair and letting the water sluice away the ash and smoke smell that lingered. Afterward, he still felt in the mood for flame, and so he turned on the gas fireplace in the living room and left it even as he roamed the upper floor, setting books to rights and making minute adjustments to the jars and bowls on the kitchen counters. Will had left his book lying facedown on the arm of the chair, and Hannibal placed in it a leather bookmark and ran one tender finger down the white crease in its spine. He replaced the book on the end table, making sure its edges were one inch away from the corners, and nearly tripped over a small white dog when he turned to go into the dining room.

"Buffy!" Will called, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. "Oh, she's up here."

"Yes, I think she was following me." Hannibal eyed her. She gazed up at him and wagged her tail slowly.

"She likes you," Will chuckled. "C'mon, Buffy, don't bother Hannibal."

"She doesn't bother me," Hannibal said, and after he said the words he wasn't certain that it was a lie. "But perhaps she would benefit from a bell."

Will did not smile, but his eyes crinkled around the edges. "Okay."

He disappeared downstairs again, perhaps to read or perhaps to brush his dogs, Hannibal couldn't say. Hannibal sat down at the piano to spend a little more time with his composition. Buffy curled up at his feet, far enough away from the pedals that she was not in his way, and Hannibal played the composition through once, and then again, and began adding notes.

At length, he heard the door below open and close. Hannibal paid it no mind. His mind was where light shone on water and jellyfish bobbed and floated below the surface, and sharks and sea turtles cut through the currents. He turned the page of his composition and added three dots on the page, black ink curling through the fibers of the paper, and three slashes above them.

The door banged open. Claws skittered across the floor, bodies bumping into each other. "Hannibal?" Will called, his voice tight with tension. "Do you have any Benadryl?"

Hannibal set down his pen. "Yes," he said. "What's the matter?" 

Will came running up the stairs two at a time, Buster cradled in his arms. "Turns out there's bees or wasps or something by the garage and Buster got stung. Can you get me half a Benadryl? I'm gonna deal with this in the kitchen."

Buffy followed Will into the kitchen, head cocked. Hannibal descended the stairs to the bathroom, used his razor to cut one of the small white pills in half, and brought it upstairs. Will had Buster up on the counter, who did look to be in quite a bad way: his face was bumpy and swollen in several places, even his ears. He kept trying to paw at his face and Will had to use one hand to hold the little dog's front legs down. He didn't have his glasses on and held his face inches away from the dog's fur.

"Will he require vet attention?" Hannibal set the half-pill down on the counter by Will's elbow. He nudged Will's hand aside and held down Buster's feet.

"Nah." Will fumbled his wallet out of his pocket and drew out his credit card. "He's done this before. Fortunately it's night, so they were sleepy, otherwise this could've been a lot worse. Do you see any stingers? I couldn't tell if they were bees or wasps, it was so dark. If it's bees I gotta get the stingers out."

Hannibal's eyesight was perfect. He searched the red sores on the dog's face and ears and could not find the telltale black prick of a stinger. "They were wasps, it seems."

Will sighed and left his credit card on the counter. He picked up the half-pill and forced it into Buster's mouth with a finger. Buster, usually a ball of quivering, aggressive energy, lay quite still and meek for this. "You never learn, do you buddy?" Will murmured. He held the dog's jaw shut until he swallowed.

"How else can I be of help?" 

Will glanced up. "You don't, I mean, it's fine. Like I said, this has happened before."

"Nonetheless," Hannibal said.

"Well, okay, you can mix up some baking soda and water, make a paste. Do you have any cold packs?"

Hannibal opened the freezer. "Yes."

"Those'll help too."

Hannibal wrapped a cold pack in a towel and gave it to Will, who pressed it against the little dog's face and ears. Buster whimpered and tried to pull away, jaws open, eyes rolling. Hannibal mixed the requested paste in a bowl and brought it to Will, who slathered it onto the red, itchy bumps. At this point the Benadryl had made Buster sleepy and he was no longer trying to paw his face, which looked very silly caked in white powder.

"Okay, that'll do for now," Will said. He stretched, his back popping after so long hunched over his pet. "I might give him an oatmeal bath later, if he's still really itchy. Uh, if you don't mind."

"My oatmeal is your oatmeal," Hannibal said gravely. "But steel-cut oats take a great deal longer to cook than rolled or quick oats, so you may wish to cook it now and have it ready for tomorrow."

"That might be a good idea." Will set Buster down on the floor. Buster swayed and shook, spraying little caked bits of baking powder paste on the floor. Will sighed. "I'll clean that up." 

Hannibal fetched the broom and dustpan. Will began to sweep. Hannibal rinsed the bowl in the sink and left it. The dishwasher was filled with clean dishes, and he did not feel like putting them all away just now.

"Thanks for your help." Will tapped the dustpan into the trash bin. "I really appreciate it."

"It was no trouble."

Will put the broom back in the cupboard. "God, one time Chester got into a tangle with a porcupine...I dealt with it myself, didn't want to take him to the vet, but that time I thought it would've been nice, if I had someone I could call to help me with it."

Hannibal finished drying his hands and hung the towel back on the rod above the sink. "You can always call me for anything, Will."

"I know," Will said. He looked away to hide the smile that Hannibal knew threatened the integrity of his face. "Thanks."

\-----

"I'm glad that you could make it," said Will.

They were in Hannibal's home, in Hannibal's cobalt-blue dining room. Abigail was there as well, wearing a beautiful black and white dress, not dissimilar to something Alana would own. Will was in a suit: charcoal, with an aubergine shirt and a dark blue tie. His hair was tamed for once, his beard neatly trimmed, and he sat up straight and met Hannibal's eye without rancor or trepidation. He looked very fine.

Hannibal took his seat at the head of the table, with Will at his right hand and Abigail at his left. In the center of the table was an entire roast suckling pig with an apple in its mouth. Hannibal knew that this pig was Jack Crawford, though it was very much a pig: ears, snout, and tail. But it was Jack Crawford.

He realized that he was dreaming.

"What is the occasion?" he asked.

"What do you see?" Will replied.

Hannibal looked around the table. He saw Abigail, sitting, smiling, with her hands in her lap. He saw Will, looking at him with an enigmatic expression, but his eyes were fond. It was the look Will had given him when he had confessed that he enjoyed this vacation with company.

"I see family," he replied, and woke up.


	6. Thursday

Hannibal let himself lie in bed for a while that morning, which was unusual for him. Typically he rose as soon as his eyes were open; he saw no use in not starting the day immediately. But this morning he gazed at the ceiling, fingers laced over his chest. Some impulse crawled between his ribs and nested there, and so he picked up his iPad and brought up the website for the New York Metropolitan Opera.

At length, the smell of coffee propelled him from bed. He met Will descending the stairs, nose in a mug, Chester and Mal skittering down the steps behind him. "Oh, good morning," Will said. "Your cup's on the counter."

"Thank you," Hannibal said, and found that he was pleased, without being sure of the reason why. The lack of self-awareness made him uncomfortable.

"I didn't start anything else," Will said. "I wasn't sure if you had something planned."

"How is your dog?" Hannibal asked. "Buster."

Will looked first startled, and then pleased, an awkward and uneven grin creasing one side of his face. "A lot better today. Swelling's gone down a lot. He's a pretty tough little guy."

"I'm glad to hear it." 

Hannibal went upstairs and fetched his coffee. It was good; Will could be trusted with coffee. Hannibal took a deep gulp and contemplated breakfast. At length, he decided on cheese omelettes, in order to use up more of that lamentable American cheese. It was already sliced, so he used his fingers to break it into shards. Will came upstairs, took one look at Hannibal was doing, and got out the eggs.

"How did you know?" Hannibal asked.

Will shrugged, as if to say, _I interpreted the evidence_ , cracked three eggs into a bowl and beat them with a fork. Hannibal sliced a generous lump of butter into a skillet on the stove and waited for it to melt. He made Will's omelette first, and then his own. Will brewed them more coffee.

"I have two tickets to see _Manon_ tonight, at the Metropolitan Opera in New York," Hannibal said, between bites of omelette. With every bite he wished it were real cheddar folded into the egg. "I have friends, colleagues in New York I can attend the show with, but I thought I should offer you the ticket first."

Will snorted, coughed, and took a steadying swallow of coffee. "Seriously? Me? The opera? I don't even have anything to wear."

"I dare say they would not turn away a ticketholder for being a little underdressed," Hannibal said without bothering to suppress his smile at the mental image of Will Graham at the opera in his dog-walking boots. He used his knife to cut several small pieces away from his omelette. "Although if it truly distresses you, there are many places in New York one could purchase--"

"No." Will waved a hand, knife still clutched in his fingers. His eyes did not meet Hannibal's. "No, thank you, very generous, but you can do better. Opera's not really my thing."

Hannibal had anticipated this; there was no second ticket. "Then I'm afraid there's the small matter of the car."

Will looked up. "The car?" He blinked. "Oh! Right. You want to take it into New York?"

"I don't want to deprive you of your transportation," Hannibal said. "I can always take a taxi or a town car."

Will shook his head. "Nah, it's fine, you can take the car. If you don't mind dog hair all over your tuxedo," he added.

"Contrary to what popular media may have you believe, the opera is not a black tie occasion." Hannibal smiled into his coffee. "I'll be wearing one of my usual suits."

"And you'll still have dog hair all over it," Will replied.

\-----

The lighthouse stood tall and white on a manicured slope, flanked by a Coast Guard building and a two-story gray stone museum. A sign on the grounds announced that the lighthouse had been COMMISSIONED BY PRESIDENT GEORGE WASHINGTON, and that it had been the first lighthouse in New York State. Dogs were not allowed inside any of the buildings, so Hannibal went inside the museum and procured two pamphlets for them, which they could read while the dogs rolled around in the brown autumn grass. Clay came bounding up to Will in hopes of a ball, which Will had not brought. He could only laugh and brush grass out of her long fur.

They made their way down the hill to the beach, where the dogs could frolic among the large rocks and pick up driftwood sticks to carry around with their heads held high. There were few tourists, this late in the year, wrapped up in fleece jackets against the wind, hands buried in their pockets. They were outnumbered by surfers, zipped up to the neck in shiny black wetsuits and carrying bright, flashy fiberglass boards under their arms. Hannibal and Will stood side by side farther up the beach, far from the tide line. Will leafed through one of his booklets; Hannibal had skimmed the literature for only a few moments before tucking it away in an inside pocket.

"This is still an active lighthouse," Will said.

"Even with all our modern technology, a two hundred and fifty year old lighthouse still finds purpose," Hannibal remarked.

"A really, really bright light still beats out a lot of other things."

Will twisted to gaze up the slope at the lighthouse. His eyelids fell to half-mast, his eyelashes dipping down over unfocused eyes. Hannibal could see that he had gone somewhere inside and wished that he could feel Will's thoughts between his fingers. Would they be jagged and prick him 'til blood welled up like a red jewel on the ridges of his thumb? Or would they be slick and slippery like an eel or a jellyfish? Would they shock him or sting him?

"You're wishing that you could take a boat out at night," Hannibal said, "and see the lighthouse in all its glory for yourself."

Will snapped back to attention with a visible jerk. "A little bit, yeah." He looked at his feet.

"Do you want to compare it to your little house?" Hannibal queried. "Your boat on the water."

"Ironic, isn't it? I want to see if my house looks like a boat on the water at night...from a boat on the water, at night." Will shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense." He shoved the pamphlet in his back pocket and began to walk back up the hill, whistling for the dogs, who came loping up one by one, some of them quite wet. Buster, who had been endearing himself to some of the surfers, was the last to attend.

"Our desires rarely make sense, but that does not make them any less valid as desires." Hannibal walked alongside Will with his hands behind his back.

"Nonsensical desires aren't valid," Will said. "They're nonsensical."

"It seems perfectly sensible to me," Hannibal said. "You wish to know if there are more places of safety in the world. Other lights in the darkness that call you home, that you call home."

Will jammed his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, well, nobody's going to rent a boat to me overnight, so it's a desire that'll have to go unfulfilled."

"Do you think impossible desires are ones undeserving of fulfillment?" Hannibal asked.

"I'm saying it doesn't matter," said Will. "If it's impossible, it won't be answered. Whether or not it deserves fulfillment is beside the point."

Hannibal did not reply. He was thinking. They came to the top of the hill. Hannibal gave the lighthouse a long, thoughtful look, and his gaze swept out across the ocean, dotted with intrepid sailboats and fishing boats.

Will gave Hannibal a sidelong glance. "Don't."

"I don't know what you imagine I will do," Hannibal said, with great dignity.

"You already offered me the loan of your vacation home," Will said.

"Well, I don't own a boat," Hannibal replied. "So you don't need to worry that I'll overstep your boundaries any further."

\-----

"You're quite certain you're all right with loaning me the car?" Hannibal said. "I won't return until very late, perhaps past midnight."

"It's fine," Will said. "I'll just have a quiet night in."

Hannibal adjusted his cufflinks. "I don't want to chain you to the house."

"It'll be fine," Will said. "The dogs and I will have the whole place to ourselves, it'll be good."

Hannibal smiled as he shrugged on his jacket. "Has my presence been that galling?"

Will winced. "That's not--"

"I understand." Hannibal buttoned his jacket. "We're men who understand solitude well. It'll be just as well for me to enjoy the opera on my own, as it will be for you to enjoy the house on your own."

Will raised his eyebrows. "I thought you said you had a second ticket."

"I did; none of my colleagues were able to make it, unfortunately. It's a Thursday night and quite last minute."

"Oh." Will took a shuffling half-step back. "Well, uh, I'm sorry."

"No apologies necessary," Hannibal said. "As I said, it's just as well."

Tonight was the first time since they began their sojourn to the Hamptons that Hannibal was wearing one of his three-piece suits, and consequently the first day that Hannibal felt rather more like himself and not like a stranger playacting in his own life. Mindful that Will's car would, in fact, get dog hair all over it, Hannibal laid a beach towel over the driver's side seat.

The drive was tedious. Hannibal did not care for the radio, nor did he care for any of the music that Will had stashed in the center console, which were all of the hand-labeled mix CD variety. The handwriting was not Will's, and the CDs bore titles such as "LISTEN TO THIS," "LISTEN TO THIS 2," "FUN MIX," and "DON'T DRIVE OFF THE ROAD." Ordinarily Hannibal did not mind long, quiet drives in his Bentley; he had a fertile imagination and a wide range of knowledge with which to entertain himself. But this was not his car, the car smelled of dog, and _Manon_ was, in fact, one of Hannibal's less preferred stories.

Manhattan was as Hannibal remembered it: crowded, flashy, and rushed, glass buildings rubbing alongside castle architecture, sidewalks jammed with pedestrians and hot dog carts and baseball-capped men handing out leaflets, and Central Park in the middle of it all, so deep and lush that one could forget the city around it. He liked it. New York was a city of fine food, fine music, people with taste, and plenty of the tasteless too. It was as close as one could get to living in one of the European cities without moving to Italy or Spain. Hannibal contemplated moving here sometimes, when he looked at Baltimore and saw nothing but gray and stale surfaces and not a single good restaurant outside of José Andres' empire. But he had spent a lot of time and energy lining his nest with routine in Baltimore, and routine was important to him. And now there was Will Graham, who was becoming part of that routine.

He handed the keys to the valet--who, to his credit, did not bat an eyelash at having to park a Volvo, after a line of BMWs and Aston Martins--and crossed the street to the Bar Boulud. It was still an early hour, and so Hannibal had no difficulty obtaining a table despite his lack of a reservation. He glanced at the menu and ordered three courses without thinking too much about it, and after the waiter left he took his phone out of his inside pocket and set it on the table. He opened the _Washington Post_ app but did not read; it was a prop for the benefit of the outside world, which would notice a man sitting alone at a table and staring into space. Hannibal liked to determine how he would be observed.

"Hannibal Lecter?"

Hannibal looked up. "Jerome Green," he said. Green had gained weight since their medical school years, but so had they all. His close-cropped curly hair had gray peppered all through it, and he had those telltale indentations in the bridge of his nose that spoke of glasses, though he wasn't currently wearing them. He had recently become a hospital director, and he had a new watch to go with the position.

Green broke into a wide, white grin. "So it _is_ you! Why didn't you tell me you were in town? We could have--are you here by yourself? Why don't you come sit with us?" He gestured to a table not too far away, where a woman and a teenage girl waited with pensive, but polite expressions.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose," Hannibal protested, but it was a token protest; he knew how this would play out. Green's table clearly seated four, so there was adequate space, and it would be but the work of a moment to inform the waitstaff that Hannibal had moved. The staff would probably be glad of it, for that would free up Hannibal's table for two paying customers.

Minutes later, Hannibal was seated with Green's family, cutting into his first course: a delightful paté, served with two triangles of toast. Green had introduced his wife, Penelope--"Penny"--and their daughter, Grace. Grace was about to start her second year at Stanford.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. "I would have expected you to be at school already."

"Quarter system," Grace explained with a resigned tilt to her corners of her mouth. She had long braided hair and excellent posture. "A lot of my friends have already left town, but I don't start for another week."

"What brings you here, Hannibal?" Green asked. "Thinking of moving?"

"No, no," Hannibal assured him. "I'm on holiday, actually; I've a vacation home in Montauk. I decided to drive into the city tonight and have a night at the opera."

"No kidding!" said Green. "Manon? That's where we're going!"

Hannibal did not have to feign his surprise. "Really?"

"I'm trying to cultivate an appreciation for the arts," said Grace. 

"This is amazing," said Green. "Who thought we'd run into each other here, of all places? And seeing the same opera, even!"

"You have a vacation house in Montauk?" Penny spoke with great envy. "Oh, that's my dream! But those houses cost millions of dollars."

"I've been very fortunate," Hannibal replied with a close-slipped smile. 

"So you've been doing pretty well for yourself, then?" Green asked. "I heard you gave up medical practice."

"I did; I've moved onto psychiatry. No one's died as a result of my therapy, and I am very happy with it." Hannibal placed his final piece of paté on a corner of bread and speared them with his fork.

"I'm surprised you're here by yourself," Green said as the server came by and brought their second courses. "Your current affair doesn't like the opera?"

"No, I'm afraid it's not really to his taste," Hannibal said. "He's no doubt enjoying having the house to himself for a few hours, though I fear for what he'll have for dinner. His ideas of nutrition are concerning at best."

Hannibal watched the ensuing flickers of muscle and skin chase across the features of his tablemates at the use of male pronouns. Green's eyes widened with brief surprise, but he recovered well; Penny blinked several times; the corners of Grace's mouth tightened with a suppressed smile, much to Hannibal's delight. She held her knife in her right hand and her fork in her left, in the European fashion. Hannibal liked her.

"Well," Green said, "maybe you ought to bring him a doggie bag."

Hannibal allowed himself to laugh. "Maybe I should."

\-----

Fortunately, Hannibal's seat was nowhere near the Greens; he had purchased a ticket at the very front of the Dress Circle, while the Greens were high up in the Family Circle. He would be expected to seek them out for mingling during the intermission, but for the performance itself he would be spared the radiating dullness. Hannibal found his seat with ease; on his right was an older gentleman with snowy white hair and a generous white mustache who also appeared to be there alone. The seat on his left was empty.

The opéra comique was not one of Hannibal's favorite forms: he disliked the combination of spoken dialogue and arias, preferring to maximize his pleasure with as much music as possible. But he could not help the Met's season schedule, and he expected the performances to be good--far better than anything one could get in D.C. Despite being the nation's capitol, the dining and arts scene there was lacking, at least in comparison to New York. Hannibal sat back, one leg crossed over the other and his hands clasped atop his knee, to enjoy the show.

Hannibal had vague memories of finding the titular Manon grating, but that was not the impression he received now. Manon was young and uncertain of her way in the world, filled with intellectual ideas of what she _should_ desire, and yet her true wishes were those of any other unworldly young woman: love, Paris. The singer did a good job portraying Manon's frailty, her youth, her naivete. Hannibal felt a great fondness for Manon, as he might for a small child or a particularly stupid pet, and he could not blame des Grieux for being quite taken by her. Why waste her in a convent, when des Grieux could have her in his home, gazing up at him with that adoring, besotted face? It was unfortunate that Hannibal was too far back to see her expressions, but the sound in the orchestra seats would not have been as good, deprived of the chance to bounce off the acoustic paneling in the rich old opera house.

Manon and des Grieux's brief domestic bliss in a modest Parisian flat was interrupted by the arrival of Manon's relatives, demanding honor. Des Grieux showed them a letter asking for permission to marry Manon, but it was no use. Manon was given an ultimatum: des Grieux would be kidnapped tonight by his own father, and Manon must agree to go with the nobleman de Bretigny, who would offer her a life of wealth and security. She vacillated via aria for a good long while, of course, singing farewells to their little table and their little chairs, bidding adieu to their small but happy life. Hannibal wondered if Will had ever been to Paris, and if he could be happy there. Judging from his untidy farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, Hannibal suspected that Will would deem Paris "nice to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there." Perhaps a country house in Provence. Hannibal would have a garden.

The curtain fell and the lights came on. Hannibal blinked. Intermission. The old man to his right was rising and shuffling to the aisle, knees crackling. Hannibal waited until the aisles were less jammed to make his way out.

He did not have to seek Green out; Green found him at the bar, glass of wine already in hand as Hannibal received his. The wife and daughter were nowhere to be seen.

"What did you think?" Green asked.

"It's better than I expected," Hannibal admitted. "The last time I saw _Manon_ was many years ago, and it did not leave much of an impression on me then."

"These things have a way of changing as you get older," Green said, and Hannibal nodded. Green took a sip of his drink; Hannibal recognized his look as that of a man nerving himself up to say something that might not be welcome. At last, Green began, "So, this guy who's waiting for you at home--"

"Ah." Hannibal let his smile show teeth. "I'm as surprised as you, I assure you."

"No kidding! You were always such a ladykiller back in med school. All the single women of Baltimore are clawing their faces off, I'm sure." Green gestured with his glass. "He must be something."

"He is utterly unique," Hannibal said. "Though we've known each other a relatively short time, I already feel that our relationship is special--for him, as well."

"He's a lucky man. So are you. I always thought it was strange that you didn't want to be serious with anybody."

"I was young. My priorities were different; I was concerned with my freedom."

"Afraid of the ball and chain, huh?" Green chuckled. "I know. I was scared as hell too. But it's not how you think it is. It brings a kind of peace to you. You know what your purpose is." His face changed all of a sudden; he had seen something or someone over Hannibal's shoulder, and whatever it was lit a spark in his eye and a smile on his face. He waved. Hannibal turned around. Penelope and Grace were coming toward them, elegant in their dresses, their faces turned toward each other like giggling schoolgirls.

"It's made me less selfish," Green murmured as the women drew closer. "I look at Penny, at Grace, and it makes me a better man." He raised his voice. "Can I get anything for you ladies?"

"Champagne," Grace said, trying to look mature and unconcerned.

Penny frowned at her. " _Grace_!"

"One red wine and one sparkling cider, coming right up," Green chuckled.

Hannibal sipped his wine and watched the triangle of their interactions. If Will were here, he would be nothing but bored and deeply uncomfortable. He would have ordered three fingers of whiskey at the bar and drained it in an effort to numb the battering sensation of small talk and social niceties. It was good that he hadn't come.

\-----

The late-night traffic was light, and Hannibal made his way back to Montauk with an easy heart. The sweet flute and violin melodies still echoed down the corridors of his mind, and he had not had to make too much conversation with Green and his family afterward, so that he could still relish the final image of Manon at des Grieux's feet. Oh, sweet tragedy! It made his chest tighten with unshed tears.

Light shone from an upstairs window as Hannibal pulled into the garage. A muffled bark sounded, quickly silenced, when Hannibal turned the key in the lock. When he opened the door, Will was there, his finger marking his place in his book. He was in his t-shirt and boxers, and his feet were bare. The dogs swarmed Hannibal, tails wagging, noses sniffing his hands, paying special attention to the brown paper bag in his hand.

"Welcome back," Will said.

Hannibal hung the keys on the hook by the door. He wondered if Will had been waiting for him. "How was your evening?"

"Fine," said Will. "How was the opera?"

"It was excellent," Hannibal said. "What did you have for dinner?"

Will chuckled and shook his head. "Of course that's what you want to know." He snapped his fingers, and Chester ceased his investigation of Hannibal's bag. "I fried up some of the fish. Took some out of the freezer for tomorrow, too."

Hannibal looked at the bag in his hand. "Then perhaps this was unnecessary."

"Why, what is it?" Will peered at the side of the bag, looking for a logo, but there was none.

"A doggie bag," Hannibal said, and Will was startled into a genuine laugh. It made the same part of Hannibal quiver as when des Grieux sang about history.


	7. Friday

Hannibal woke feeling peaceful and rested. As he had the morning before, he lay in bed with his hands folded on his chest.

Today was their last full day of vacation. They had planned to drive back Saturday night, so that both of them would have a day to catch up before beginning the week on Monday. At the time, Hannibal had suspected that Will wanted a day of solitude in his house to buffer from a vacation spent in such close proximity with another human being. Hannibal could sympathize with that, and so had not attempted to dissuade him. 

He would have to cook as much of their perishables today as he could. Hannibal hated wasting food.

Will was upstairs, boiling water for coffee, still tousle-haired. He had not shaved since arriving and his beard had grown long, so that he resembled even more the Southern country boy that he supposedly resented, barefooted and surrounded by dogs. He had the eggs out on the counter and a fish on the cutting board. "G'morning," Will mumbled.

"Do you have plans?" Hannibal opened the carton and inspected the remaining six eggs.

"Not really," Will said. "I just thought we'd better use up as much food as we can today, so it doesn't go to waste."

"Hm." Hannibal selected a knife from the block and began to filet the fish. "You've no objections to fish for breakfast?"

"Hell no." Will pressed the button on the coffee grinder, and for a few minutes there could be no conversation in the kitchen. Hannibal finished filleting the fish and disposed of the heads in the garbage. It was too bad there was no garden here; fish heads made excellent fertilizer.

"I think it may be fish for all three meals today," Hannibal said.

"We'll do cheeseburgers for dinner," said Will. "Break up the monotony. Fish tomorrow."

"Very well."

Hannibal dredged the fish in egg and panko crumbs and did a light fry. He scrambled the eggs. Will cut up the last of their fruit. An odd breakfast perhaps, but delicious, and high in protein and vitamins. Hannibal could not complain, and Will cleaned his plate with enthusiasm.

"Do you have any more plans for the day?" Hannibal asked as he set his knife and fork parallel to each other on his plate. "Beyond cleaning the refrigerator."

"Not really. I think we've exhausted what there is to do around here, short of surfing or visiting tiki bars." Will sat back in his seat and grinned at the look on Hannibal's face. "If I could, I'd go fishing one more day."

"Why not?"

Will tilted his head, looking very much like one of his own dogs. "Well, I guess with a cooler and some ice…" He shook his head. "I don't want to have to cart the fish all the way back to Virginia, and I don't do the whole sport fishing thing. Don't catch anything you don't intend to eat, is what my dad always said."

"I agree with that sentiment." Hannibal rose and cleared their dishes.

"Yeah, so, I might just hang around here." Will rubbed a hand across his beard. "Do some reading. Watch some TV. Take the dogs down to the beach."

"I hope I won't be in your way." Hannibal rinsed their dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher.

"Nah. You're pretty quiet, actually." Will drummed the fingers of one hand on the table. "I appreciate it."

Hannibal smiled. "I strive for harmony in all my relationships."

\-----

After breakfast, Will took the dogs down to the beach, and Hannibal retired to the study to make some phone calls and do some drawing. By the time Will returned, his hands dirty and scratched from throwing driftwood sticks and the dogs thoroughly damp, Hannibal was composing again. He wanted to finish the composition here, if he could; it was a piece born of this time and space, and he did not have a piano at home.

"It's beautiful," Will said.

"Thank you." Hannibal scratched another few notes into the page and began to play again. "I rang a few of my neighbors here."

"Oh?" Will scratched Mal under the chin. Her ears drooped in pleasure.

"Yes. Some of them have piers, you see. And boats."

Will's hand stopped. He didn't look up at Hannibal. "You didn't."

"A neighbor agreed to lend us a boat tonight," Hannibal went on. "He seemed a little concerned, but I assured him that you're an experienced boater."

Will swallowed, muscles working underneath skin. He kept his eyes firmly fixed on Mal's muzzle, though his hand remained worked into the dog's fur. "You didn't have to do that."

"I'm aware that I didn't," Hannibal said. "I wanted to. This is your vacation, and I'm not sure this opportunity will arise again. We should seize what moments we can."

He played the piece from the beginning. Will resumed stroking Mal's head.

"Thank you," Will said, when the music stopped.

"You're welcome," Hannibal said, and began playing again.

\-----

For lunch, Hannibal poached one of the fish with white wine and a quick fish broth made from the bones, and served it with glazed carrots and rice. "More appropriate for dinner, perhaps," Hannibal said, "but we'll be having cheeseburgers for dinner."

"You probably think cheeseburgers are lunch food," Will said around a mouthful of tender, flaky fish.

"We're on vacation," Hannibal said, unfolding his napkin into his lap. "There are no rules here."

Will finished chewing and swallowed his bite of fish. "I always wondered about those rules. Eggs for breakfast, sandwiches for lunch...I've always eaten hot dogs on white bread for breakfast and scrambled egg sandwiches for dinner."

"They differ from culture to culture, as well." Hannibal scraped a few grains of rice onto his forkful of fish. "In Japan they will almost never eat eggs for breakfast, for example, and in Italy they have coffee after dinner. They are hardly rules; just social norms and mores. Easy enough to ignore, except that one's path in life is generally easier if one learns to operate within them."

Will looked off to the side. They were eating their lunch on the lower deck today, the dogs spread out on the grass and under the table. Buster and Mal kept looking up at them hopefully, to no avail. Will gazed past them, out to the brittle brown lawns, where the other dogs sprawled in the weak sun. "I've never been very good at that."

"It's not that you don't know the norms," Hannibal said, "you just choose not to observe them."

"What, you mean things like eye contact, shaking hands, being polite?" Will shook his head and turned his attention back to his food. "It's, it's hard for me."

"That may be so, but it also suits you that it's difficult for you. You desire solitude, and it's easy to be strange." Hannibal sat back in his chair. He kept his fork pointed tines down. "If they perceive you as unfriendly, then they won't bother you. Easy for you to keep others at arm's length."

Will peered at Hannibal over his glasses. "You're going to need another vacation after this vacation, if you don't stop working."

Hannibal smiled. "The truth is, I envy you."

Will gave a quick, harsh bark of laughter. "Envy me?"

"There's a certain freedom, isn't there? In being unsociable." Hannibal cut one of his carrots in half. "You need never live up to the expectations of others. Or you need only live down to them, rather."

The next few moments were filled only with the clink of Hannibal's cutlery against his plate. Winston yawned. Buster whined. Will stared into space, his knife and fork suspended above his plate. He resumed eating with quick, jerky motions, as if he needed to catch up to the current time. "You're wrong; people do have expectations of me."

"Jack." Will nodded, and Hannibal swallowed his bite of fish before continuing. "He saw past your unsociable exterior to the useful core. It must be difficult not to resent him, at times, dragging you out of your peaceful life of solitude and into a world where murderers are always knocking on the doors of your mind."

Will sat back and rubbed the bridge of his nose, knocking his glasses askew on his face. He resettled them before speaking. "Well, when you put it that way...but I don't _resent_ him. He's just doing his job. And I, I want him to do his job. I don't want people to die, more people to die."

Hannibal crossed his knife and fork on his clean plate. "At least he doesn't expect you to be sociable, while doing the work."

"No, just." Will let out a gust of breath and a half-formed grin. "Just civil. I can manage that, even though I don't always feel like it." He glanced up at Hannibal, and then away again. "I guess you might know how that feels."

"Oh, I do," Hannibal said. "We all do."

\-----

"You're coming, right?"

Hannibal looked up from his drawing. Today it was the view from the upper balcony, facing southeast: the rolling lawn, the teak lawn chairs, the ocean. He had drawn Will in one of the chairs below, his bare feet sticking out in front of him, one of the dogs lying in the grass beside his chair. Winston, probably; Hannibal had not filled in those details yet. It was summer in the drawing, the sun bright, the grass lush and verdant.

"On the boat," Will clarified.

Hannibal set the drawing aside. "I had not wished to assume," he said, carefully. "I thought you might like to be alone."

Will took a deep breath and let it out again. He fixed his gaze on the baseboards behind Hannibal, flexed the fingers of his right hand, and said, "If you don't want to come, that's fine; it's gonna be dark, and cold, probably, and I don't imagine I'll be very good company, as if I'm good company anytime else. But you borrowed the boat for me, and if you want to come, I wouldn't say no."

Hannibal clasped his hands on the desk before him and studied Will. Will's arms hung loose and nervous at his sides; he still did not meet Hannibal's eyes; he looked a little as though he were braced for a blow. At last, Hannibal said, "If you would like me there, then I would be honored."

Will did not reply with words, or even with eye contact, but some of the tension unwound from his shoulders. He nodded and left the room.

They prepared the cheeseburgers that afternoon, so that when they got back from their evening excursion all they would have to do was throw the cheeseburgers on the grill. Will seasoned and formed the patties, to be left on a plate in the refrigerator, while Hannibal salvaged two leaves of lettuce from the wilting head and sliced the tomato and onion. Hannibal also packed them the last of the yogurt and fruit as a snack, should they grow peckish on their little sojourn, and a large thermos of hot tea; Will packed a flask of whisky.

Shortly before sunset, they walked up the road to the year-round home of Arnold and Emily Stoper. They rented out half of their vacation home sometimes, along with the use of their boat, though for Dr. Lecter they were willing to loan it free of charge; after all, they had been neighbors a long time, and they'd been guests at his dinner table, many years ago, before they retired to the Hamptons. They were old money, wisely invested, and now Emily was a philanthropist and environmental activist, while Arnold funded and produced nature documentaries. Will looked a little overwhelmed and embarrassed by this influx of information, and his expression, by the time they reached the boat itself, was hunted.

Hannibal knew very little about boats. He assumed that the Stopers would have a good boat, and judging by Will's noise of surprise and pleasure, he was not wrong. Will approached the boat the way an experienced horseman might approach an unfamiliar steed, with a wariness born of respect. Arnold Stoper showed him the motor, the controls, the stereo; Will made noises of understanding and asked questions that Hannibal did not hear. He watched the way Will made eye contact and stood up straight. He heard the way Will didn't stammer and the way he ended his sentences with "sir."

Dusk was falling by the time they left the pier, charting a course to take them away from the coast and then northeast, toward the lighthouse. They could see it clearly, tall and white and brown, standing up from the coast like a single fang. The light was already blinking, bright enough that it hurt to look at directly. Will let the engine idle and sat back, one foot drawn up and the other straight out in front of him, his arms stretched out across the back of the bench seat so that one hand was behind Hannibal's shoulders. He tilted his head back and gazed up at the sky.

Hannibal unscrewed the thermos. He poured tea into the stainless steel cup-lid and offered it to Will. Will shook his head and took a pull from his flask. He offered the flask to Hannibal, who accepted. Will gave a rusty chuckle as Hannibal sucked down a mouthful of whisky, coughed, and handed the flask back to Will.

"It's hard to believe this is our last night here," Will remarked.

"It is." Hannibal took a sip of his tea. The whisky burned warm in his stomach.

Will sighed. "I don't want to go back," he admitted.

Hannibal cradled his cup in his hands. "You've been happy here."

"I don't know if happy is the word," Will said. "I don't have much experience with that." He squinted toward the lighthouse. "But...content, I guess. It's been nice here. Just...being able to do whatever I want, having the dogs with me, letting them run around. It's felt kind of like a dream."

"How have you been sleeping?"

Will scrubbed his palms against his pants. "Better, actually. There are still nightmares, but I think they're not...quite as bad. Even my headaches are better, I think."

"Good." Hannibal had given Will Tylenol PM, the past few nights, after he'd run out of aspirin. "Perhaps if we could extend this vacation another week or two, you'd be cured."

Will let out another creaky laugh. "Yeah...that's not possible."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"Jack," Hannibal said, at the same time as Will. "You don't have to do what he says; you could quit."

"I could, but." Will swallowed. "I don't know why I don't. This feels like something I have to do, I guess, even though I know I don't have to do it."

Night had crept up on them as they rocked back and forth on the waves. The current had been carrying them west, but the lighthouse was still within sight, bright now that everything else was dark. The light flashed once every five seconds, steady and implacable. It was easy to believe that even at the end of the world, this lighthouse would still stand sentinel.

"I feel like maybe in another world," Will said, "I would have quit, and just focused on being there for Abigail. Or maybe, in another world, I wouldn't have said yes to Jack about looking for the Shrike, and Abigail's parents would still be alive, and they would've caught Hobbs some other way."

Hannibal leaned forward, his body pointed toward Will. "Or in that world, Abigail might be dead. In this world, she is alive, and she has you to thank."

"More you, than anyone else." Will brushed the back of his hand across his nose. "I don't know. It doesn't matter; this is the world we're in, and it's a world where I'm messed up, and Abigail is messed up, and we're all mixed up in this together." He cracked his neck and gazed out across the water. "But I guess I wish it was a different world. One more like this one, I guess, only Abigail's here too."

"Safe on a boat on the water," Hannibal murmured. "Free and alone, with a light to guide us home."

It was very, very dark, out on the water. One could not tell where sea and sky began, or even see the shore. But there was the lighthouse, pulsing bright and steady, calling them toward danger and guiding them past it.


	8. Saturday

Hannibal sighed over the contents of their refrigerator the next morning: a few stalks of celery, leftover tomato and onion from the cheeseburgers last night. At least they'd used up all the American “cheese." He scrambled them all together with the rest of their eggs and toasted the remaining two hamburger buns under the broiler, while Will made the coffee and tossed the rest of their perishables.

Will laughed to see the toasted hamburger buns on their plates, with butter and jam alongside. "It's like something my dad might have done," he explained, and Hannibal wasn't sure whether or not to feel insulted. Will munched his way through their odd breakfast without complaint and every evidence of enjoyment, and Hannibal wondered, a little, why he bothered.

Then, the packing. After six days, the detritus of their lives had settled and flowed into every crack in the house: keys left in the kitchen, shoes by the back door, books stacked on the back of the toilet. The dogs watched the activity with concerned expressions and pricked ears, and more than once Hannibal or Will turned and almost stepped on a paw or bumped into a furry flank.

"Hey," Will said, "did you want this music? On the piano?"

"No," Hannibal said from the kitchen, where he was making note of what in the pantry needed replacing.

"Are you sure? Didn't you want to finish it?"

"It's finished, but it's for piano. I only have a harpsichord at home, and in my office."

Will's incredulous expression was clear from the silence, though Hannibal couldn't see it. "O...kay."

Hannibal smiled. "I have an excellent memory; if I wish to recreate it for harpsichord, I will. You know, there's still a lot of fish in the freezer here; I think it could keep, in a cooler with ice. Are you sure you don't want it?"

"Nah," said Will. "Leave it for your guests. They'll love it."

Hannibal had the sensation, as he walked each room, put back exactly the way it had been before, that he'd been at the theater and become immersed in some play. Now the curtain had gone down, the lights had come up, and he was drawn out of the suspended world and had to get in his car and go home. He turned out the light in the study after collecting his drawings, then in the living room, dining room, and finally the kitchen. He went downstairs and checked his bedroom, then the bathroom. The caretaker would come and check it all again, after they'd left, and would mail to them anything that had been left behind, but Hannibal liked to be sure.

Will was outside, loading up the car. The dogs bumped up against his legs, tails wagging and tongues lolling. Will pulled a wry expression. "You guys don't know we're not going to the park," he said. "We're going on another six hour car ride. You're not gonna like that part."

The dogs only heard the word 'park.' Their excited panting grew more fervent; tails wagged harder.

Once the dogs were all bundled into the car and lying down, Hannibal got in on the passenger's side, and Will in the driver's seat. Will did not start the engine right away; he sat in the front drive and stared up at the house. "It's weird," he said. "On the day we got here, I thought this house was so incredibly fucking pretentious. But after a while I got used to it, I guess."

"The human brain is incredibly good at normalizing experiences," Hannibal said.

Will snorted. "You don't have to tell me that." He started the car and pulled away from the house, onto the road. They stopped by one of the Hamptons' many delis to pick up some sandwiches, and then it was onto the highway, toward Baltimore.

The drive would have been five and a half hours, perhaps six, without the dogs. With the dogs it was eight, because Will insisted on frequent stops to walk and water them. Hannibal didn't mind; he was not as young as he used to be, and long periods of sitting no longer agreed with him. He was as glad of the opportunity as the dogs for a chance to stretch his legs.

It was during one of these stops, sitting on a low wall outside of a Wendy's and eating their deli sandwiches while the dogs rolled on the grass, that Will said, "I thought it was going to be weird. Going on vacation with my therapist."

"Am I your therapist?" Hannibal picked a piece of pastrami out of his sandwich and handed it to Buffy, who gobbled it down and licked her lips for more. Harvard and Chester came trotting up to investigate.

Will had finished his sandwich and left the wrapper on the grass for the dogs to nose through. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his arms. "No. Not really. We're past that point now, aren't we?"

"I believe we passed it a long time ago." Hannibal tossed the end of his sandwich onto the grass for the dogs to squabble over. He glanced at Will to find the other man smiling and returned it with an involuntary smile of his own. It made his stomach flip. "I would say that we're friends."

"Friends," Will murmured. He squinted up at the sky. The smile had not left his face. "I don't think I've ever had a friend who'd loan me his vacation house for a week."

"And now you do." Buffy put her paws up on Hannibal's leg to sniff his hands. Hannibal pushed her off gently.

"I guess I do." Will looked at Hannibal. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Hannibal replied.

\-----

It was dark by the time they arrived in Baltimore, with Hannibal at the wheel. He recognized the streetlights, the dark and shuttered businesses, his neighbors' homes, and yet it was like he had never seen them before. He felt as if he had been gone seven years rather than seven days, and that the houses should have changed their colors in that time, put in new landscaping, grown up new trees. Hannibal pulled up in front of his house and put the car in park, but did not turn off the engine.

Will got out of his seat and stretched with a sigh and a pop of his back. "Is it okay if I let the dogs out for a little bit, here?"

"Of course," Hannibal said. He got out of the driver's seat and left the door open. The headlights spilled yellow light on the faux cobbles of his driveway. Will opened the hatchback and the dogs spilled out, circling and sniffing and wagging their tails.

"Would you like to come inside for dinner?" Hannibal asked. He wasn't even sure what he had in the kitchen; any perishables in the refrigerator were surely spoiled by now.

Will looked up at him, startled, and then back at the dogs. He pursed his lips. "Nah," he said. "I should probably get back, feed the dogs. Besides, I imagine you want to settle back in." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Thanks, though."

"Of course," Hannibal said, quietly.

"And thanks for everything else, too," Will said. "I had. It was good."

Hannibal nodded.

Will left. Hannibal watched him go from his front step, until the tail lights were red pinpricks in the distance, rounding the corner.

The house was cold. Hannibal turned on the heat and walked from room to room, turning on the lights. The décor in each room was meticulous, everything at right angles, perfectly hung or stacked or placed, and all of it his taste, and only his, from the antler chandeliers to the old medical prints on the walls to the antelope head over the fireplace. He checked the messages on his home phone and his work phone: one message from Alana, reporting that Abigail was making progress; one message from a patient, who said she'd forgotten that Hannibal was on vacation and that it wasn't urgent, she would call back later; one message from a colleague asking if he would be able to take a referral; several hang-ups, likely from telemarketers or charity fundraisers. He turned the light off in each room as he left it, until he reached the kitchen. A bag of forgotten spinach wilted in the bottom of the crisper. Hannibal threw it in the garbage can. He would need to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

At last, with nothing left to do, he went upstairs. He emptied the contents of his suitcase into his laundry hamper and shed his clothes, covered in dog hair and odor from the long car ride. He took a long, hot shower in his spacious marble bathroom and crawled naked into bed. He'd changed the sheets before he left, so that they were clean now, with that clean-sheets feeling that could not be overestimated.

It was quiet. Hannibal could not hear the ocean.

He wondered if Will were home yet.

\---end---

**Author's Note:**

> [coloredink.tumblr.com](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [sumiwrites.wordpress.com](https://sumiwrites.wordpress.com/) (if you wanna see the books I've written)


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